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COMPOSITION 

ORAL  AND  WRITTEN 


By  CHARLES  SEARS  BALDWIN 


Essays  Out  of  Hours.      Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Gilt  Top. 

American  Short  Stories,  Selected  and  Edited  with 
an  Introductory  Essay  on  the  Short  Story. 
(Wampum  Library)  Crown  8vo. 

Writing  and  Speaking.  A  Text-book  of  Rhetoric 
for  High  Schools. 

Composition:  Oral  and  Written.  A  Text-book  for 
more  advanced  students.  Adapted  in  large  part 
from  "Writing  and  Speaking." 

A  College  Manual  of  Rhetoric.    Crown  8vo. 

The  Expository  Paragraph  and  Sentence.  An 
Elementary  Manual  of  Composition.    16mo. 

De  Quincey's  Flight  of  a  Tartar  Tribe.  Edited 
with  Introduction  and  Notes.  (Longmans' 
English   Classics.) 

De  Quincey's  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  English  Mail 
Coach.  Edited  with  Introduction  and  Notes. 
(Longmans'  English  Classics.) 

Btmyan's  The  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Edited  with 
Introduction  and  Notes.  (Longmans'  English 
Classics.) 


NEW  YORK:  LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 


J 


COMPOSITION 

ORAL  AND  WRITTEN 


BY 

CHARLES  SEARS   BALDWIN,  A.M.,  Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR   OF   RHETORIC   IN   COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 


LONGMANS,    GREEN    AND    CO. 

FOURTH   AVENUE    &    30TH  STREET,    NEW   YORK 
LONDON,    BOMBAY,    CALCUTTA,   AND   MADRAS 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
Longmans,  Green,  and  Co. 


AU  rights  reserved 


First  edition,  September,  1909 
Reprinted,  July,  1910;  July,  1911; 
June,  1912;  June,  1914; 
May,  1 91 6;  June,  191 7 
June,  1918;  September,  1918 
November,  1919 


«MeLlSH  I 


THX*PX.IMPTON«  PRESS 
NORWOOD*  MASS*  U*S*  A 


PREFACE 

This  book  is  an  adaptation  of  my  Writing  and  Speaking 
to  more  rapid  use  by  more  advanced  students.  Both  the 
order  and  the  proportions  have  been  changed;  parts  have 
been  re-cast;  many  of  the  exercises  have  been  modified  or 
made  over;  and  the  whole  has  been  reduced  in  size  by 
about  a  third.  Otherwise  the  two  books  are  substantially 
the  same.  The  chapters  on  description  and  narration  and 
other  parts  most  closely  related  to  the  study  of  literature 
have  been  change'd  least,  since  the  adaptation  demanded 
in  these  cases  is  rather  of  themes  than  of  text.  I  hope  the 
book  in  this  form  will  serve  those  colleges  who  wish  more 
detailed  review  of  elementary  applications,  and  less  detailed 
study  of  style,  than  are  found  in  my  College  Manual  of 
Rhetoric, 

G.  S^  B. 

Yale  College,  AugiLst,  1909. 


426182 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I.    THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

PAGE 

1.  The  Two  Objects  op  Composition,  Clearness,  and  Inter- 

est           .....  1 

2.  Clearness  Studied  Best  in  Exposition 2 

3.  Unity 4 

a.  Limiting  the  Subject 4 

h.  Developing  the  Subject  within  the  Limits 5 

(1)  By  Instances 7 

(2)  By  Contrast 8 

(3)  By  Iteration 9 

(4)  By  Illustration- 11 

(5)  The  Habit  of  Questioning  .    >^ 13 

c.   Announcing  the  Subject      .      ,  "  ,^^ 15 

4.  Emphasis 19 

a.  Proportioning  the  Space 20 

b.  Iterating  at  the  End 25 

5.  Coherence 26 

a.  Beginning  where  the  Audience  is 26 

b.  Leading  the  Audience  Step  by  Step 27 

(1)  Plan 28 

6.  The  Distinction  between  Exposition  and  Argument       .  30 

CHAPTER  II.    THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

1.  Interest  Studied  Best  in  Description 33 

2.  Claiming  Interest  (Emphasis) 34 

a.  Abundance  of  Details 35 

b.  Definiteness  of  Details 39 

c.  Observation 41 

3.  Fixing  Interest  (Unity) 43 

a.  Characteristic  Moment 43 

b.  Characteristic  Details 45 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

c.  Difference   between   Exposition   and   Description  in   the 

Means  to  Emphasis  and  Unity 48 

4.  Holding  Interest  (Coherence) 51 

o.  Choosing  Subjects  whose  Characteristic  Details  are  Motion 

and  Sound 53 

h.  Choosing  Moments  of  Action 55 

c.  Beginning  to  Describe  at  Once 55 

d.  Connecting  the  Details  through  the  Action  of  One  upon 

Another 56 

c.  Keeping  One  Point  of  View 60 

5.  Reaction  op  Interest  on  Clearness 61 

6.  The  Distinction  between  Description  and  Narration    .  63 

CHAPTER  III.     CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN 

1.  Paragraphs  the  Principal  Means  of  Coherence  in  Longer 

Expositions  and  Arguments 67 

2.  The  Paragraph  as  a  Part 69 

a.  Division,  Grouping  under  Paragraph  Headings  ....  70 

3.  The  Paragraph  as  a  Stage 73' 

a.  Plan,  or  Outline,  the  Order  of  Paragraphs 74 

(1)  The  Paragraph  Subject  a  Complete  Sentence     ...  75 

(2)  Outline  by  Paragraphs  for  Analysis 76 

(3)  Outline  by  Paragraphs  for  Practice 79 

4.  The  Paragraph  Adjusted  to  Its  Place 83 

o.  Coherence  of   the   Whole    Secured    by   Paragraph    Em- 
phasis    83 

b.  Coherence  of  the  Whole  Confirmed  by  Words  of  Tran- 

sition    91 

CHAPTER  IV.     CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

1.  Sentences  AND  Words  Studied  Best  in  Revision  .     ...  94 

2.  Revision  of  Sentences 94 

o.   Unity  and  Coherence  in  Syntax 95 

(1)  Gear  Simple  Sentences 96 

(2)  Clear  Complex  Sentences 97 

(3)  Clear  Compound  Sentences 99 

b.  Punctuation  and  Capitals 102 


CONTENTS  ix 

FAGS 

c.  Emphasis  in  Sentence-form;  Putting  the  Right  Word  at  the 

End 109 

(1)  Ending  with  the  Most  Important  Word  of  the  Sentence  110 
(a)  Emphasis  Defeated  by  Redundancy       .      .      .      .  Ill 

(2)  Ending  with  the  Most  Important  Word  for  the  Para- 

graph     .      .     \ 113 

(a)  Other  Means  of  Adjusting  the  Sentence  to   the 

Paragraph 115 

(3)  Sentence-forms  Generally  Emphatic 120 

(a)  Balanced  Sentences 120 

(6)  Periodic  Sentences 122 

3.  Revision  of  Words 126 

a.  Good  Habits  in  Words 126 

(1)  Revision  of  Writing 127 

(2)  Alertness  in  Conversation 127 

(3)  Care  in  Enunciation 128 

h.  Good  Manners  in  Words ~ .     ^      .  129 

(1)  Usage  as  Recorded  in  the  Dictionary 129 

(2)  Usage  as  Reputable,  National,  Present 131 

(3)  Slang 132 

c.   Precision 133 

(1)  Synonyms 134 

(2)  Definition 139 

CHAPTER  V.    INTEREST  IN   DETAILS 

1.  Adaptation  of  Sentence-Form  by  Sound 142 

a.  Variety .  142 

6.  Descriptive  Sentences 144 

2.  Adaptation  of  Words 147 

a.  Homely  Words 148 

(1)  Idioms 150 

(2)  Proverbs 152 

(3)  Native  Words  and  Foreign  Words 152 

h.  Specific,  Concrete  Words 155 

(1)  Figures  of  Speech 158 

(a)  Figures  of  Association 159 

(6)  Figures  of  Likeness 159 


^  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VI.    CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

PAGE 

1.  Collecting  Facts 163 

a.  Taking  Notes 163 

(1)  Notes  on  Cards 163 

(2)  Notes  Few  and  Brief     . 164 

(3)  Notes  from  More  than  One  Source 165 

b.  Books  of  Reference 166 

c.  Reading  from  Book  to  Book 167 

d.  Authority 169 

2.  Grouping  Facts 172 

o.  Fixing  the  Single  Point  in  a  Sentence 173 

b.  Brief,  or  Plan  for  Analysis  of  Argument     .      .     .     .     .  174 

(1)  For,  not  Therefore 178 

(2)  How  to  Bring  In  the  Other  Side 178 

(3)  Division  under  a  Few  Main  Heads 179 

(4)  Exercises  in  Brief -Drawing 181 

(5)  Specimen  Briefs  for  Practice .  181 

c.  Adaptation  of  the  Brief  to  Analysis  of  Exposition   .      .      .  192 

CHAPTER  VII.     CLEARNESS  AND  INTEREST  IN  EXTENDED 
ARGUMENT  AND  EXPOSITION 

1.  The  Oral  Presentation  of  Facts 197 

a.  Brief  and  Paragraph  Plan .  197 

b.  Statement  and  Proof      .      .      ; 200 

c.  The  Three  Main  Ways  of  Arguing 201 

(1)  Deduction 202 

(2)  Induction 204 

(3)  Analogy 205 

d.  Speaking  from  Outline 206 

(1)  Better  than  Reading  or  Memorizing 206 

(2)  Insures  Adaptation  and  Emphasis 208 

(3)  Insures  Due  Amplification 208 

(4)  Insures  Freedom  and  Spontaneity 209 

e.  Debate 210 

(1)  The  Spirit  of  Debate 210 

(a)  Reality 210 

(6)  Courtesy.      .      •> 212 

(c)  Honesty.      ,     r 213 


CONTENTS                       '  xi 

PAGE 

(2)  The  Method  of  Debate:  Rebuttal 214 

(a)  Grouping  Rebuttal 215 

(6)  Closing  Positively 216 

(c)  "  How  do  you  Know?  "  and  "  What  of  It ? "      .     .  216 

(d)  Listening 217 

(e)  Workin^Together...^,. ---^ 218 

/;-  -'^Speeches  on  Occasions 219 

(1)  Distinct  from  Speeches  in  Debate 219 

(2)  The  Opportunity  for  Originality 220 

(3)  The  Need  of  Bringing  Home 221 

(4)  Suggestions  for  Occasional  Speeches  ......  222 

g.  Revision  of  Speeches 229 

(1)  Accuracy  in  Words 230 

(2)  Force  in  Words 2C1 

The  Written  Interpretation  op  Literature  ....  233 

a.  Intensive  Reading  as  Distinct  from  Extensive    ....  234 

b.  How  Composition  Helps  the  Study  of  Literature      .      .      .  235 

(1)  Grouping  Notes  of  Literary  Impressions       .      .      .      .  237 

(2)  Subsidiary  Use  of  Biography  and  History    ....  239 

(3)  Subjects  for  Essays  Interpreting  Literature        .      .      .  239 

(4)  Imitation  to  Heighten  Appreciation 243 

c.  How  Literature  Helps  the  Study  of  Composition     .     .     .  245 


CHAPTER  VIII.  INTEREST  BY  NARRATIVE  PLAN  (? 

Story-telling  as  Universal 248 

Story-telling  as  Concrete 249 

a.  Concrete  Revelation  of  Character 254 

Story-telling  as  Story-planning 261 

a.  Plan  not  by  Paragraphs 261 

b.  Plan  not  Strict  in  Older  Long  Stories 262 

Unity  in  Story-telling:  Fixing  Interest 263 

o.  Unity  as  Omission 263 

(1)  Omission  vs.  Summary 265 

(2)  Omission  as  Limiting  the  Time  and  Place     ....  267 
b.  Unity  as  Selection 269 

(1)  Unity  of  Thought,  as  in  Fables,  Parables,  and  Anec- 

dotes, Exceptional 271 

(2)  Unity  of  Feeling  Proper  to  Narrative 273 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

c.  Unity  as  the  Dominance  of  One  Character 275 

5.  Coherence  in  Story-telling:  Holding  Interest    .      .      .  277 

a.  Coherence  as  Leading  Up  to  the  End 277 

(1)  Climax  and  Suspense .  277 

(a)  Newspaper  Way  and  Magazine  Way       ....  278 

(2)  CompUcation  and  Solution 282 

b.  Coherence  as  Moving  Steadily  and  Rapidly 284 

(1)  Weaving  In 284 

(2)  The  Narrator 285 

6.  Emphasis  in  Story-telling:  Satisfying  Interest  .     .     .  285 


CHAPTER  IX.   STYLE 

The  Adaptation  op  Words -  .     .  287 

a.  The  Personal  Quality 294 

The  Sound  op  Sentences 296 

a.  The  Sound  of  Verse 297 

(1)  Rime        '  .      .  299 

(2)  Rhythm  and  Meter 299 

(3)  Adaptation  of  Verse-form  to  Feeling 302 

h.  The  Sound  of  Prose 305 

(1)  Rapidity 308 

(2)  Variety 313 


CHAPTER  X.  THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

1.  The  Two  Fields  op  Composition 318 

2.  The  Primary  Forms  op  Composition  in  Literature   .      .  320 

a.  Epic:  the  Realization  of  Life 321 

b.  Romance:  the  Idealization  of  Life 325 

c.  Lyric:  the  Cry  of  Life '327 

d.  Drama:  the  Representation  of  Life 329 

(1)  Action  Interesting  to  an  Audience 329 

(2)  Action  of  Will  on  Will 334 

(3)  Action^Limited  in  Time  and  Place 335 

(a)  Climax  and  Conclusion 337 

(6)  Dramatic  Opening 338 

e.  Oratory:  Persuasion  about  Life 339 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

The  Secondary  Forms  of  Composition  in  Literature    .     341 
o.  Essay:  Discussion  of  Life .341 

(1)  Looser  Essay,  the  Spectator  Type 346 

(2)  Stricter  Essay,  the  Edinburgh  Review  Type      .     .     .     346 

6.  Novel:  the  Web  of  Life 348 

c.  Short  Story:  a  Crisis  of  Life      •     •     •     • 353 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

The  themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  should  he  explanations 
(expositions)  of  two  hundred  to  three  hundred  words.  Argue 
whenever  your  explanation  seems  to  need  proof;  try  to  he  inter- 
esting; hut  keep  as  your  main  object  to  explain  clearly. 
Most  of  the  themes  should  he  first  spoken  connectedly,  then 
urrUten. 

All  themes  should  he  written  in  ink  on  paper  of  one  prescribed 
size,  and  on  one  side  of  the  sheet.  Each  sheet  should  he  num- 
hered  in  the  upper  right-hand  corner^  and  hear  the  initials  of 
the  writer  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner.  Find  out  whether 
the  reader  prefers  the  sheets  folded  (and  how)  or  left  flat  and 
held  together  with  manuscript  clasps. 

1.  THE    TWO    OBJECTS    OF    COMPOSITION, 
CLEARNESS  AND  INTEREST 

The  object  of  all  writing  and  speaking  is  to  be  clear;  a 
further  object  of  most  writing  and  speaking  is  to  be  inter- 
esting. We  speak  that  others  may  understand;  we  usually 
speak  that  they  may  share  our  feelings.  Clearness  and 
interest,  then,  sum  up  all  that  we  try  to  achieve  by  words. 
How  far  we  achieve  these  ends  we  know,  not  from  what 
we  meant  to  say,  not  even  from  what  we  said,  but  only 
from  the  effect  on  the  people  addressed.  My  letter  to  you 
is  clear  only  if  it  is  understood  by  you,  to  whom  I  wrote  it; 
it  is  interesting  only  if  you  were  glad  to  read  it.  The  last 
speech  that  you  heard  was  clear  in  proportion  as  it  was 
2  1 


2      ^:\':  Tif^yp^^mciPLEs  of  clearness 

grpi!spe(3L*by*;the  'audience;,  it  was  interesting  if  they  were 
attentive,  if  they  showed  by  laughing  or  crying  or  applaud- 
ing that  they  sympathized.  There  is  no  point  in  saying, 
"That  is  clear,  whether  you  understand  it  or  not/'  For 
all  composition  is  measured  by  its  effects.  We  write  or 
speak,  not  to  satisfy  ourselves,  but  to  make  the  impression 
that  we  wish  to  make  on  others.  In  studying  clearness 
and  interest,  then,  we  are  studying  to  adapt  means  to  end. 
The  means  are  the  way  we  put  our  words  together;  the 
end  is  to  make  other  people  understand  us  and  feel  with 
us.  The  study  of  composition  consists  in  learning  how  to 
write  and  speak  so  that  people  will  surely  understand  and 
sympathize. 

2.  CLEARNESS    STUDIED    BEST    IN    EXPOSITION 

To  be  clear,  to  be  interesting,  are  objects  always;  and  all 
the  ways  of  gaining  them  spring  from  that  root  idea  of 
adapting  oneself  to  readers  or  hearers.  But  no  single 
composition  is  concerned  with  these  objects  equally.  A 
business  letter,  for  instance,  is  concerned  more  with  clear- 
ness, a  personal  letter  with  interest.  And  as  letters  are 
thus  naturally  divided  into  two  class,  so  are  all  other  forms 
of  writing  and  speaking.  Though  we  may  try  to  be  inter- 
esting even  when  our  main  object  is  to  be  clear,  and  though 
we  must  be  clear  even  when  our  main  object  is  to  be  inter- 
esting, nevertheless  one  object  or  the  other  is  our  main 
object  according  to  the  kind  of  writing.  KipUng's  story. 
The  Maltese  Cat,  is  both  clear  and  interesting.  It  is  clear 
because  we  understand  the  game  of  polo  without  knowing 
anything  of  it  beforehand;  it  is  interesting  because  we  are 
excited  to  leaiyi  how  it  will  turn  out,  and  pleased  with  each 
incident  on  the  way.  But  evidently  its  main  object  is  the 
object  of  story-writing  in  general,  —  to  be  interesting.     A 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  3 

manual  of  history  or  commercial  geography  should  be  both 
clear  and  interesting;  but  of  course  its  main  object  is  to  be 
clear.  A  httle  thinking  over  a  dozen  familiar  books  will 
show  that  each  has  one  or  the  other  as  its  main  object. 

Main  Ohjedy  Clearness  Main  Object,  Interest 

A  Manual  of  Navigation  Two  Years  before  the  Mast. 

Freeman's  Norman  Conquest.  Ivanhoe, 

Burke's  Reflections  on  the  Revo- 
lution in  France.  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 

Muir's  The  Mountains  of  Cali-  Bret  Harte's   The  Outcasts  of 

fornia.  Poker  Flat. 

Draw  up  a  similar  list  with  six  pieces  in  each  coliunn  for  com- 
parison. 

All  the  pieces  in  one  column,  however  different  their 
subjects,  are  of  the  same  general  kind.  Those  on  the  left 
were  written  to  explain  or  prove;  those  on  the  right,  to  tell 
a  story  or  describe.  The  former  is  known  technically  as 
exposition  or  argument,  according  as  it  is  written  rather  to 
explain  or  rather  to  convince  and  arouse  action;  the  latter 
kind  is  known  technically  as  description  or  narration,  accord- 
ing as  it  is  written  rather  to  call  up  images  or  rather  to 
carry  on  a  story. 

Main  Object,  Clearness  Main  Object,  Interest 

Writing  to  explain  or  prove.  Writing  to  describe  or  to  tell  a 

story. 
Writing  for  business.  Writing  for  pleasure. 

Technical  name,  exposition,  or       Technical  name,  description,  or 
argument.  narration. 

Such  a  division  does  not,  of  course,  rule  out  interest  when 
we  are  writing  for  the  business  object  of  clearness,  nor 
rule  out  clearness  when  we  are  writing  to  arouse  pleasant 


4  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

interest;  but,  by  fixing  the  main  object  of  each  kind,  it  does 
open  the  way  to  study  the  proper  means,  as  we  must  now 
do,  in  more  detail.  For  each  kind,  as  we  learn  from  the 
writers  who  have  pursued  it  most  successfully,  has  its  own 
proper  means,  its  own  ways  to  success.  These,  then,  are 
/  (1)  the  principles  of  clearness y  and  (2)  the  principles  of  interest. 
We  can  study  them  best  separately  by  speaking  and  writing 
with  the  attention  fixed  on  the  one  main  object,  and  by 
examining  those  speakers  and  writers  whose  attention  was 
fixed  in  the  same  direction.  For  the  first  step  toward  good 
composition  is  to  know  exactly  what  you  are  at.  With  our 
minds  fixed,  then,  on  clear  explanation,  let  us  seek  in  this 
kind  of  writing  the  principles  of  clearness. 

3.   UNITY 

Limiting  the  Subject.  —  Think  of  three  subjects  which 
you  know  well  enough  to  explain  orally  in  three  or  four 
minutes.  The  public  library?  Automobiles?  These  are 
too  big.  You  might  explain  how  artisans  use  the  public 
library,  or  discuss  the  increase  of  motor-cars  for  business. 
Evidently  the  first  step  is  to  choose  what  you  can  explain 
clearly  in  the  time.  Every  speaker  or  writer  must  always, 
/  as  a  condition  of  success,  limit  his  subject  to  his  space.  He 
may,  indeed,  speak  or  write  without  this,  but  he  cannot 
speak  or  write  successfully.  He  will  be  compelled  either 
to  stop  half-way  or  to  leave  his  explanation  vague.  The 
subjects  below  can  be  explained  orally  in  three  or  four  min- 
utes. Do  not  choose  any  of  them  if  you  prefer  one  of  your 
own;  but  learn  from  them  how  to  limit. 

1.  The  Court  of  Venice  Wronged  Shylock  (?). 

2.  Why  We  ^rade  with  Brazil. 

3.  The  Increasing  Use  of  Reinforced  Concrete. 

4.  Lumbermen  are  Wasteful, 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  5 

5.  Bookbinding  for  Women. 

6.  The  Meaning  of  "all  men  are  created  free  and  equal." 

7.  Sunday  Baseball  for  Workmen. 

8.  The  Group  System  of  Elective  Studies. 

9.  The  Principle  of  the  Block  System  on  Railroads. 

10.  The  Main  Reason  for  Supporting  Free  High  Schools. 

11.  We  Need  a  College  Infirmary. 

12.  The  Silhness  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  Daughters. 

13.  Itahans  Make  Good  Americans. 

14.  The  Main  Good  of  Expeditions  to  the  North  Pole. 

15.  The  Great  Advantage  of  a  Small  College. 

16.  MiUtary  Drill  in  College  Teaches  .... 

Some  of  these  topics  are  expressed  in  phrases,  some  in 
clauses,  some  in  sentences,  and  generally  those  expressed  in 
sentences  are  the  most  definite.  Most  of  the  others  would 
gain  in  definiteness  by  being  put  in  the  same  way: 

The  phrase  "  created  free  and  equal "  refers  to  equality  before 
the  law. 

Our  trade  with  Brazil  is  a  natural  exchange  of  products. 
Bookbinding  is  a  profitable  craft  for  women. 
The  Vicar's  daughters  are  silly. 

Therefore,  since  your  first  step  is  to  know  exactly  what 
you  are  at,  think  out  your  point  into  a  sentence;  i.e.,  before 
you  go  on,  make  your  subject  clear  to  your  own  mind  by 
expressing  it  in  the  most  definite  form.  This  will  save  you 
from  wandering  or  wasting  time.  The  first  step  toward 
clearness  should  result  in  fixing  the  Subject  as  a  sentence. 

Developing  the  Subject  within  the  Limits.  —  But  the 
object  of  this  limiting  is  not  to  say  little;  it  is  to  say  much 
—  as  much  as  you  can  in  your  time;  it  is  to  give  time  for  full 
explanation  by  holding  the  attention  on  one  well-defined 
idea. 


6  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

Gas  Stoves  are  More  Convenient  than  Coal  Stoves. 
Easier  and  quicker  to  light. 
Easier  to  regulate  heat. 
No  fuel  to  carry,  no  ashes. 
Kettle  boils  in  six  minutes. 
Toast  in  five  minutes. 
Always  ready,  no  waiting. 
More  comfortable  in  hot  weather. 
Boiler  attachment. 

My  experience  with  steak  and  potatoes. 
Can  tell  cost  exactly;  compare  coal,  ashes,  repairs. 
Can  regulate  cost  exactly. 

Constant  heat  from  coal  offset  by  quick  heat  from  gas,  and  by 
having  to  fill  up  coal  stove,  shake  down,  etc. 

Thus  the  idea  is  thought  out  by  considering  the  various 
ways  in  which  it  is  true,  by  instances  or  examples,  by 
contrast  and  comparison.  Such  notes  need  arrangement 
to  make  them  fit  to  speak  from;  but,  before  you  try  to 
arrange  the  order,  think  the  subject  over  and  over,  look 
at  it  this  way  and  that,  and  see  that  you  have  a  plenty  of 
examples.  Expand  first.  Then,  if  you  have  too  much  to 
say,  you  can  choose  the  best. 

We  Trade  with  Brazil  by  Exchange  of  Products. 

Brazil  produces  mainly  coffee  and  rubber. 

United  States  uses  large  quantities  of  coffee  and  rubber. 

United  States  manufacturing  nation;  Brazil  not. 

United  States  manufactures  rubber  goods  —  overshoes,  etc. 

United  States  has  no  tariff  on  rubber  §nd  coffee ;  but  Brazil  has 
tariff  on  our  manufactures;  not  fair. 

In  United  States  everybody  drinks  coffee  and  wears  rubbers. 
Brazil  needs  clothing,  etc.,  tools,  flour. 

United  States  ought  to  have  more  ships  to  Brazil. 

Compare  Argentina — main  products  there  wool,  wheat,  and  hides; 
same  as  ours  except  manufactures.    Hence  not  so  easy  to  trade. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  7 

This  is  thought  out  in  the  same  general  ways;  i.e.,  by 
instances,  by  contrast,  etc.  But  those  notes  about  the 
Brazilian  tariff  and  the  number  of  our  ships  —  do  they 
help  to  show  why  we  trade  with  Brazil?  No.  Therefore 
they  ought  to  be  struck  out.  In  trying  to  expand,  it  is 
easy  to  pass  the  limits  set  at  the  beginning.  There  is  no 
harm  in  this;  for  notes  must  always  be  tested  afterwards 
by  the  subject  sentence,  and  this  will  tell  what  to  omit. 
Think  as  freely  and  fully  as  you  can;  but,  before  you  speak, 
test  all  your  notes  by  seeing  that  each  one  really  helps  to  bring 
out  the  idea  of  the  subject  sentence.  Leave  the  rest  for  another 
theme.     Don't  try  two  things  at  once. 

After  you  have  thought  out  a  subject  in  this  way  with 
notes,  speak  it  in  your  room.  This  will  accustom  you  to  the 
sound  of  your  own  voice  in  steady  explanation,  will  let 
you  see  whether  you  have  made  the  subject  clear  in  the 
allotted  time,  and  will  insure  good  practice  even  if  you  are 
not  called  on  in  class.  When  you  speak  it  in  class,  speak 
it,  not  merely  to  the  instructor,  but  to  the  class.  Look 
your  classmates  in  the  eye  and  try  to  make  them  under- 
stand fully. 

Then,  as  a  separate  exercise  afterward,  write  out  your 
explanation  and  hand  it  in  as  a  theme.  Follow  the  same 
method;  use  the  same  words  whenever  you  remember  them 
easily;  but  revise  your  sentences. 

Development  by  Instances,  —  To  develop  an  explanation 
clearly  from  the  sentence  that  sums  up  its  main  idea,  we 
use  instances,  contrast,  iteration,  or  illustration.  Each 
of  these  ways  is  worth  separate  attention. 

In  the  French  country  men  are  used  to  long  walks. 

In  the  country,  the  men  are  not  afraid  of  a  long  walk.  One 
of  my  neighbours  would  go  fifteen  miles  and  back  with  no  other 
companions  than  his  walking-stick  and  a  little  dog,  though  he 


8  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

had  a  carriage ;  and  I  know  another  who  sometimes  does  his  twenty 
miles  a  day,  and  very  often  forty.  I  also  know  a  surgeon  who 
has  a  practice  which  extends  over  a  large  tract  of  hilly  coimtry, 
thinly  inhabited,  and  yet  he  will  not  keep  a  horse,  but  prefers 
walking,  as  more  convenient  for  short  cuts.  His  average  day 
will  cover  between  ten  and  thirty  miles.  My  boys  often  go  to 
stay  with  some  young  friends  of  theirs  in  a  wild  out-of-the-way 
village,  and  during  these  visits  they  make  daily  pedestrian  excur- 
sions, in  which  the  master  of  the  house  often  joins  them.  These 
excursions  often  extend  to  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  by  the  time 
they  get  back  to  the  village.  I  remember  meeting  a  friend  of  ours, 
an  old  gentleman,  not  yet  enfeebled  by  time,  who  had  given  us  a 
rendezvous  at  a  certain  large  pond  or  lake  amongst  the  hills.  It 
was  at  least  forty  miles  from  his  own  house ;  but  he  came  on  foot, 
and  brought  three  young  men  with  him.  They  had  slept  one 
night  on  the  way,  and  rambled  through  a  wild  coimtry  botaniz- 
ing and  geologizing.  They  went  back  by  another  round,  exactly 
in  the  same  manner,  guiding  themselves  by  the  ordnance  map 
and  a  mariner's  compass,  a  necessary  precaution  in  crossing  broad 
patches  of  forest.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  this  vigorous  temper  in 
the  real  country. 
— Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  Round  My  House,  Chapter  vii. 

This  explanation  is  carried  on  by  instances,  or  examples. 
The  neighbor,  the  doctor,  the  sons,  the  old  gentleman  and 
his  companions,  —  all  are  examples  of  a  habit  of  walking. 
This  is  the  simplest  way  of  explanation  and,  because  it  is 
usually  necessary,  one  of  the  best. 

Development  by  Contrast  —  The  following  is  carried  on  in 
the  same  way,  and  also  by  contract: 

You  cannot  he  a  real  sailor  till  you  live  in  the  forecastle. 
In  the  midst  of  this  state  of  things  my  messmate  and  I  peti- 
tioned the  captain  for  leave  to  shift  our  berths  from  the  steerage, 
where  we  had  pi-eviously  lived,  into  the  forecastle.  This,  to  our 
delight,  was  granted,  and  we  turned  in  to  bunk  and  mess  with  the 
crew  forward.    We  now  began  to  feel  like  sailors,  as  we  never 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  9 

fully  did  when  we  were  in  the  steerage.  While  there,  however 
useful  and  active  you  may  be,  you  are  but  a  mongrel,  a  sort  of 
afterguard  and  "ship's  cousin."  You  are  immediately  under 
the  eye  of  the  officers,  cannot  dance,  sing,  play,  smoke,  make  a 
noise,  or  growl,  or  take  any  other  sailor's  pleasure.  You  live  with 
the  steward,  who  is  usually  a  go-between;  and  the  crew  never 
feel  as  though  you  were  one  of  them.  But  if  you  live  in  the  fore- 
castle, you  are  "as  independent  as  a  wood-sawyer's  clerk"  and 
are  a  sailor.  You  hear  sailors'  talk,  learn  their  ways,  their  pecu- 
harities  of  feeling  as  well  as  of  speaking  and  acting,  and,  moreover, 
pick  up  a  great  deal  of  curious  and  useful  information  in  seaman- 
ship, ship's  customs,  foreign  countries,  etc.,  from  their  long  yarns 
and  equally  long  disputes.  No  man  can  be  a  sailor,  or  know  what 
sailors  are,  unless  he  has  lived  in  the  forecastle  with  them,  turned 
in  and  out  with  them,  and  eaten  from  the  common  "kid. "  After 
I  had  been  a  week  there,  nothing  would  have  tempted  me  to  go 
back  to  my  old  berth;  and  never  afterwards,  even  in  the  worst  of 
weather,  even  in  a  close  and  leaking  forecastle  off  Cape  Horn,  did 
I  for  a  moment  wish  myself  in  the  steerage. 
—  Richard  Henry  Dana,  Jr., 

Two  Years  before  the  Mast,  Chapter  viii. 

Are  the  people  in  your  neighborhood  accustomed  to  long  walks? 
Think  of  any  instances  you  have  observed.  If  you£nd  no  such 
habit,  make  a  contrast  with  the  French  habit  explained  above. 
How  does  your  doctor  go  about?  How  do  your  friends  take  their 
exercise?  Why  is  walking  less  common  than  in  the  French  coun- 
try? Is  it  because  of  the  prevalence  of  bicycles?  of  trolley  cars? 
Are  long  walks  less  common  than  in  your  father's  youth?  Pre- 
pare in  this  way,  i.e.,  by  instances  and  contrast,  a  short  oral  address 

We  are  (not)  used  to  long  walks. 
Revise  this  afterwards  as  a  written  theme. 

Development  by  Iteration.  —  The  French  are  brought  up  to  easy 
and  simple  manners, 
French  children  are  generally  well-mannered.    They  are  sel- 
dom rough  or  boisterous.    Their  almost  constant  contact  with 


10  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

their  mother  and  their  mother's  friends  gives  them,  from  their 
babyhood,  a  glimmering  of  the  sort  of  voice  and  attitude  which 
ought  to  be  adopted  before  strangers.  .  .  .  One  of  the  great 
causes  of  the  ease  with  which,  as  a  whole,  the  French  act  toward 
each  other  lies  in  this  early  training.  A  boy  of  ten  knows  per- 
fectly that,  if  his  father  meets  a  lady  in  the  street,  and  stops  to 
speak  to  her,  his  own  duty  is  to  take  his  hat  off  and  to  stand  bare- 
headed. He  knows  that  it  would  be  rude  to  shake  hands  with 
anybody,  man  or  woman,  without  imcovering.  His  mother 
tells  him,  his  father  sets  him  the  example;  so  it  seems  quite  nat- 
ural to  him.  He  does  it  simply,  without  loutishness  or  shyness. 
In  the  same  way  he  learns  to  be  cool  and  self-collected  even  if 
anything  occurs  which  draws  attention  to  him  in  a  crowd.  If 
he  drops  his  book  at  church  and  has  to  leave  his  place  to  pick  it 
up,  he  does  not  blush;  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should.  The 
girls  do  not  giggle  and  look  foolish  if  their  hair  comes  down  or  their 
hats  fall  off;  they  rearrange  themselves  with  perfect  calm  and 
self-possession,  utterly  unconscious  that  anyone  is  looking  at  them, 
and  indifferent  if  they  know  it.  From  these  early  habits  they 
grow  up  to  regard  all  ordinary  movements  as  being  permissible 
in  public.  This  is  why  a  Frenchwoman  takes  off  her  bonnet  and 
smooths  her  hair  before  the  glass  in  a  railway  waiting-room  or  a 
restaurant,  or  regulates  her  skirts,  or  puts  in  order  her  baby's 
inmost  clotHbs  before  fifty  people.  In  her  eyes  all  such  things  are 
so  natural,  so  matter-of-course,  that  she  has  no  kind  of  motive 
for  making  any  fuss  about  them.  She  does  them  just  as  if  she 
were  at  home;  and  she  is  right.  The  advantage  of  being  educated 
with  views  of  this  sort  is  immense.  The  views  themselves  are 
wise  and  practical;  and  their  realization  has  a  marked  effect  on 
the  development  of  simplicity  and  naturalness  in  manners. 
—  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton,  French  Home  Life,  Chapter  v. 

This  also  is  developed  by  instances.  Contrast  is  implied; 
for  when  we  read  that  the  French  boy  does  not  blush  when 
he  drops  a  book,  or  a  French  girl  giggle  when  her  hair  comes 
down,  we  think  at  once  of  American  boys  and  girls  who  do 
blush  and  giggle  on  like  occasions.     Further,  the  explana- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  11 

tion  is  helped  by  a  third  method.  The  second  sentence 
repeats  the  idea  of  the  first,  as  if  the  writer  had  said :  French 
children  are  well-mannered.  They  are  not  ill-mannered. 
But  the  statement  is  not  merely  repeated;  it  is  enforced  by 
putting  it  in  another  way.  For  this  useful  means  of  clear- 
ness in  explaining,  the  common  name  is  iteration.  "He 
does  not  blush;  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should.''  "She 
has  no  kind  of  motive  for  making  any  fuss  about  them. 
She  does  them  just  as  if  she  were  at  home."  In  each  of 
these  cases  the  second  statement,  though  it  is  a  repetition, 
makes  the  first  clearer  by  putting  it  in  another  light.  Be- 
sides, by  saying  a  thing  twice,  a  writer,  and  still  more  a 
speaker,  allows  time  for  it  to  sink  in.  Be  sure  that  your 
hearers  grasp  what  you  have  said.  Iteration  is  more  im- 
portant in  spoken  explanation  than  in  written;  but  in  both 
it  is  a  useful  means  of  clearness. 

Development  hy  Illustration.  —  Like  the  ancient  history  of  man, 
the  ancient  history  of  the  earth  is  studied  by  digging. 

The  work  of  the  geologist  in  determining  the  successive  ages 
of  the  world  is  in  general  principles  precisely  like  that  of  the  stu- 
dent who  concerns  himself  with  the  ancient  history  of  man.  The 
likeness  will  be  perhaps  clearer  to  the  reader  if  we  suppose  him 
to  undertake  an  inquiry  concerning  the  ancient  inhabitants  of 
North  America.  All  over  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  in  other 
parts  of  the  country,  he  will  find  scattered  the  plentiful  remams 
of  the  Indians  who  were  recently  expelled  by  the  whites.  Arrow- 
heads, stone  hammers  and  hatchets,  here  and  there  bits  of  pottery, 
or  ancient  graves,  show  the  recent  possession  of  the  country  by 
savages.  Now  and  then,  below  the  level  of  the  upper  or  soil 
stratum,  we  find  remains  of  a  slightly  more  cultivated  tribe  of 
aborigines,  the  Mound-builders  and  those  folk  who  made  the  great 
fortifications  of  the  Mississippi  Valley.  It  is  easy  to  prove  that 
these  Mound-builders  were  earlier  than  the  tribes  known  to  the 
whites,  by  the  fact  that  their  remains  lie  generally  below  the  level 


12  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

occupied  by  the  fragments  of  worked  stone  and  earthenware  left 
by  the  later  ordinary  Indians  who  were  known  to  our  people.  Now 
let  us  suppose  that  the  observer  has  a  mind  to  dig  deeper,  and  to 
pass  altogether  through  the  soil  coating.  He  will,  at  most  points 
in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  —  indeed,  over  much  of  the  area  of  the 
continent,  —  come  at  once  upon  rocks  which  are  full  of  fossils. 
The  stone  in  which  they  are  held  is  laid  in  successive  layers,  which 
are  evidently  deposited  one  after  the  other,  each  carrying,  in 
general,  numerous  remains  of  animals  or  plants.  He  knows  these 
remains  to  have  once  been  living,  by  their  general  likeness  to  the 
creatures  of  to-day;  but  when  he  proceeds  to  compare  them  with 
the  forms  now  dwelling  on  sea  and  land,  he  finds  that  they  differ 
in  a  very  striking  way  from  those  now  in  existence.  Probably 
not  a  single  species  will  be  of  the  same  sort  as  those  now  dwelling 
on  the  earth.  In  a  word,  he  has  found  written  in  the  great  stone 
book  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  earth  which  came  long  before 
the  present  stage  in  that  history. 

—  N.  S.  Shaler,  The  Story  of  Our  Continent,  Chapter  ii. 

Here  the  explanation  is  carried  on  mainly  by  comparison, 
or  illustration.  An  instance,  or  example,  is  drawn  from 
the  subject  itself.  The  study  of  fossils  is  an  instance  of  the 
study  of  geology.  An  illustration  is  drawn  from  another 
subject  which  is  similar.  The  study  of  fossil  animals  is 
like  the  study  of  buried  pottery.  The  illustration  helps  us 
to  understand  the  study  of  geology  by  comparing  it  to  the 
study  of  ancient  history.  An  instance  is  drawn  from  within 
the  subject;  an  illustration  is  drawn  from  outside.  The 
following  is  developed  in  the  same  way. 

The  education  of  history  is  like  the  education  of  travel. 

The  effect  of  historical  reading  is  analogous,  in  many  respects, 
to  that  produced  by  foreign  travel.  The  student,  like  the  tourist, 
is  transported  into  a  new  state  of  society.  He  sees  new  fashions. 
He  hears  new  modes  of  expression.  His  mind  is  enlarged  by  con- 
templating the  wide  diversities  of  laws,  of  morals,  and  of  manners. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  13 

But  men  may  travel  far  and  return  with  minds  as  contracted  as 
if  they  had  never  stirred  from  their  own  market-town.  In  the 
same  n:anner  men  may  know  the  dates  of  many  battles,  and  the 
genealogies  of  many  royal  houses,  and  yet  be  no  wiser.  Most 
people  look  at  past  times  as  princes  look  at  foreign  countries. 
More  than  one  illustrious  stranger  has  landed  on  our  island  amidst 
the  shouts  of  a  mob,  has  dined  with  the  king,  has  hunted  with 
the  master  of  the  stag-hounds,  has  seen  the  Guards  reviewed 
and  a  Knight  of  the  Garter  installed,  has  cantered  along  Regent 
Street,  has  visited  St.  Paul's  and  noted  down  its  dimensions,  and 
has  then  departed,  thinking  that  he  has  seen  England.  He  has, 
in  fact,  seen  a  few  public  buildings,  public  men,  and  public  cere- 
monies. But  of  the  vast  and  complex  system  of  society,  of  the 
fine  shades  of  national  character,  of  the  practical  operation  of 
government  and  laws,  he  knows  nothing.  He  who  would  under- 
stand these  things  rightly  must  not  confine  his  observations  to 
palaces  and  solemn  days.  He  must  see  ordinary  men  as  they 
appear  in  their  ordinary  business  and  in  their  ordinary  pleasures. 
He  must  mingle  in  the  crowds  of  the  exchange  and  the  coffee- 
house. He  must  obtain  admittance  to  the  convivial  table  and 
the  domestic  hearth.  He  must  bear  with  vulgar  expressions.  He 
must  not  shrink  from  exploring  even  the  retreats  of  misery. 
He  who  wishes  to  understand  the  condition  of  mankind  in  former 
ages  must  proceed  on  the  same  principle.  If  he  attends  only  to 
public  transactions,  to  wars,  congresses,  and  debates,  his  studies 
will  be  as  unprofitable  as  the  travels  of  those  imperial,  royal,  and 
serene  sovereigns  who  form  their  judgment  of  our  island  from 
having  gone  in  state  to  a  few  fine  sights,  and  from  having  held 
formal  conference  with  a  few  great  officers. 

—  Macaulay,  Essay  on  History, 

The  Habit  of  Questioning.  —  No  one  of  these  four  means 
of  development  —  instances,  contrast,  iteration,  illustration 
—  can  be  called  better  than  the  others;  and  no  one  can 
often  be  used  alone.  Clearness  depends  so  often  on  fullness 
that  we  explain  now  in  this  way,  now  in  that.  Some  good 
explanations  use  all  four;  and  before  choosing,  it  is  wise 


14  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

to  try  all.  Whichever  may  seem  best  for  the  audience,  all 
are  good  for  the  preparation  of  the  speaker  or  writer.  This 
preparation  is  the  questioning  of  one's  own  mind.  What 
is  this  that  I  am  trying  to  explain?  In  what  other  form 
may  I  state  my  definition  (iteration)?  Is  that  instance 
sufficient?  What  is  this  Hke  (illustration)?  Unhke  or 
opposite  to  (contrast)?  So  the  subject  is  developed  by 
putting  oneself  in  the  reader's  place,  by  asking  oneself  the 
questions  that  would  naturally  be  asked  by  the  audience. 

What  ?  How  ?  Why  ?  Like  what  ?  Contrasted  to  what? 
Such  questions  help  to  think  a  subject  through,  to  limit 
wisely,  to  develop  fully.  The  practice  should  be  extended 
to  the  questioning  of  others  as  in  a  reporter's  interview, 
and  to  the  questioning  of  books  (Chapter  vi).  For  a  good 
exposition  or  argument  is  a  satisfactory  answer  to  natural 
questions;  and  a  good  deal  of  education  comes  from  look- 
ing for  reasons. 

In  these  ways  think  out  a  brief  oral  address  on  a  subject  sug- 
gested by  one  of  the  following.  Notice  that  in  each  case  the  topic 
suggested  is  too  broad  and  vague  to  be  discussed  until  you  have 
by  reflection  settled  upon  some  single  view  of  it  which  you  can 
express  in  a  single  guiding  sentence. 

Revise  your  address  as  a  written  theme. 

1.  A  Labor  Union.  8.  The    Out-Door    Cure     for 

2.  Wireless  telegraphy.  Tuberculosis. 

3.  Competition  in  College.  9.  Irrigation. 

4.  Dormitories  and  Fraternity  10.  Postal  Savings  Banks. 

Houses.  IL   Direct  Primaries. 

5.  The  Forest  Service.  12.   Prohibition  in  the  South. 

6.  The  Reading  of  Poetry  in  13.  Japanese    on    the    Pacific 

College.  Coast. 

7.  Manual  Trakiing.  14.  What  is  a  Glacier? 

15.   Organized  Cheering. 

Listen  attentively  to  each  oral  exposition  in  class  so  as  to  be 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  15 

ready,  when  the  speaker  has  finished,  for  a  connected  oral  report 
as  follows : 

(1)  What  did  he  say?     (The  subject  in  a  complete  sentence.) 

(2)  How  did  he  say  it?  (Development  by  instances,  illustra- 
tion, etc.) 

(3)  What  should  he  have  said  further?  (Lack  of  iteration,  or 
omission  of  something  important  for  clear  understanding). 

Practice  in  listening  is  of  great  importance,  not  only  for  debate 
(Chapter  vi),  but  also  in  general  for  developing  alertness  and  quick- 
ness of  mind  and  readiness  of  expression.  Such  impromptu  oral 
reports  should  be  continued  throughout  the  study  of  this  chap- 
ter. At  first  take  a  few  notes  to  fix  attention  and  refresh  mem- 
ory; but  gradually  accustom  yourself  to  catch  the  points  and 
report  them  connectedly  without  writing. 

Announcing  the  Subject.  —  Each  explanation  so  far 
quoted  has  been  summed  up  in  the  sentence  printed  in 
italics  at  its  head.  Such  a  subject  sentence  is  commonly 
provided  by  the  writer  himself  at  the  beginning.  See  how 
many  of  the  explanations  above  begin  in  this  way.  It  is 
a  natural  means  of  clearness  to  make  such  an  announce- 
ment at  the  start:  and,  where  the  explanation  is  only  one 
part  of  an  extended  composition,  it  is  often  necessary. 
Where  the  subject  is  not  thus  stated  fully  at  the  beginning, 
it  is  often  foreshadowed  or  stated  in  part.  Comparing  the 
last  sentence  with  the  first,  see  how  many  of  the  quotations 
above  end  with  an  iteration  of  the  subject.  What  is  the 
object  of  this?  Point  out  the  subject  sentence  of  each  of 
the  following,  or  make  one  if  it  has  not  been  provided 
by  the  writer.  Point  out  any  cases  of  iteration,  especially 
at  the  end.     Study  in  each  case  the  means  of  development. 

I 

The  grouping  of  the  continents  and  their  place  in  the  world  of 
waters  brings  about  one  of  the  most  beneficent  arrangements  in 
the  system  of  the  earth's  machinery.    By  this  arrangement  the 


16  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

ocean  currents  are  led  from  the  tropics,  where  their  waters  are 
heated,  towards  the  poles,  where  they  give  off  the  heat  they 
acquired  near  the  equator,  thus  warming  the  sea  and  the  adjacent 
islands  in  a  remarkable  manner.  For  instance,  the  Gulf  Stream, 
which  as  it  flows  westward  across  the  tropical  part  of  the  Atlantic 
is  a  broad  current  impelled  by  the  trade  winds,  is  turned  to  the 
northward  by  the  northern  part  of  South  America  and  the  south- 
ern portion  of  North  America,  and  made  to  flow  into  the  northern 
Atlantic.  This  current  is  very  broad  and  deep;  it  carries  many 
times  as  much  water  as  all  the  rivers  of  the  world ;  and  this  stream, 
warmed  by  the  tropical  suns,  carries  with  its  tide  more  heat  into 
the  Arctic  circle  than  comes  to  the  earth  in  that  realm  from  the 
direct  rays  of  the  sun.  If  the  continents  did  not  form  great  walls 
across  the  seas,  the  equatorial  current  which  the  trade  winds  pro- 
duce and  send  in  a  westerly  direction  would  go  straight  around 
the  earth,  and  none  of  its  heat  would  be  turned  to  high  latitudes 
about  either  pole.  In  such  a  condition  of  the  earth,  Europe  and 
the  parts  of  North  America  north  of  the  parallel  of  45°  would  be 
uninhabitable  by  man,  from  the  intensity  of  the  cold.  This  would 
also  be  the  case  in  the  southern  parts  of  South  America.  At  the 
same  time  the  heat  of  the  tropics,  not  having  the  chance  to  escape 
which  is  now  afforded  by  the  ocean  streams  which  the  continents 
divert  towards  either  pole,  would  be  far  greater  than  at  present, 
probably  too  great  for  the  life  of  man.  Thus,  by  their  position 
in  the  seas,  the  continents  in  a  very  simple  way  operate  to  im- 
prove the  climate  of  the  earth,  to  make  the  realms  of  both  land  and 
sea  better  suited  for  the  varied  forms  of  living  beings. 

—  N.  S.  Shaler,  The  Story  of  Our  Continent,  Chapter  ii. 

II 

Might  I  give  counsel  to  my  young  hearer,  I  would  say  to  him. 
Try  to  frequent  the  company  of  your  betters.  In  books  and 
life  that  is  the  most  wholesome  society.  Learn  to  admire  rightly; 
the  great  pleasure  of  life  is  that.  Note  what  the  great  men 
admired.  They  admired  great  things.  Narrow  spirits  admire 
basely  and  worship  meanly.  I  know  nothing  in  any  story  more 
gallant  and  cheering  than  the  love  and  friendship  which  this 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  17 

company  of  famous  men  [Pope  and  his  friends]  bore  towards  one 
another.  There  never  has  been  a  society  of  men  more  friendly, 
as  there  never  was  one  more  illustrious. 

— Thackeray,  The  English  Humorists,  Pope. 

Ill 

In  truth  we  are  under  a  deception  similar  to  that  which  mis- 
leads the  traveller  in  the  Arabian  desert.  Beneath  the  caravan 
all  is  dry  and  bare ;  but  far  in  advance,  and,  far  in  the  rear,  is  the 
semblance  of  refreshing  waters.  The  pilgrims  hasten  forward 
and  find  nothing  but  sand  where,  an  hour  before,  they  had  seen 
a  lake.  They  turn  their  eyes  and  see  a  lake  where,  an  hour  before, 
they  were  toiling  through  sand.  A  similar  illusion  seems  to  haimt 
nations  through  every  stage  of  the  long  progress  from  poverty 
and  barbarism  to  the  highest  degrees  of  opulence  and  civilization. 
But,  if  we  resolutely  chase  the  mirage  backward,  we  shall  find  it 
recede  before  us  into  the  regions  of  fabuloiis  antiquity.  It  is 
now  the  fashion  to  place  the  golden  age  of  England  in  times  when 
noblemen  were  destitute  of  comforts  the  want  of  which  would  be 
intolerable  to  a  modern  footman,  when  farmers  and  shopkeepers 
breakfasted  on  loaves  the  very  sight  of  which  would  raise  a  riot 
in  a  modern  workhouse,  when  to  have  a  clean  shirt  once  a  week 
was  a  privilege  reserved  to  the  higher  class  of  gentry,  when  men 
died  faster  in  the  purest  country  air  than  they  now  die  in  the  most 
pestilential  lanes  of  our  towns,  and  when  men  died  faster  in  the 
lanes  of  our  towns  than  they  now  die  on  the  coast  of  Guiana.  We 
too  shall,  in  our  turn,  be  outstripped,  and  in  our  turn  be  envied. 
It  may  well  be,  in  the  twentieth  century,  that  the  peasant  of  Dor- 
setshire may  think  himself  miserably  paid  with  twenty  shillings 
a  week;  that  the  carpenter  at  Greenwich  may  receive  ten  shillings 
a  day;  tha,t  labouring  men  may  be  as  little  used  to  dine  without 
meat  as  they  now  are  to  eat  rye  bread;  that  sanitary  police  and 
medical  discoveries  may  have  added  several  more  years  to  the 
average  length  of  human  life;  that  numerous  comforts  and  lux- 
uries which  are  now  unknown,  or  confined  to  a  few,  may  be  within 
the  reach  of  every  diligent  and  thrifty  working  man.  And  yet 
it  may  then  be  the  mode  to  assert  that  the  increase  of  wealth  and 
3 


18  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

the  progress  of  science  have  benefited  the  few  at  the  expense  of 
the  many,  and  to  talk  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria  as  the  time 
when  England  was  truly  merry  England,  when  all  classes  were 
bound  together  by  brotherly  sympathy,  when  the  rich  did  not 
grind  the  faces  of  the  poor,  and  when  the  poor  did  not  envy  the 
splendour  of  the  rich. 

—  Macaulay,  History  of  England,  end  of  Chapter  iii. 

^  IV 

Death  is  at  all  times  solemn,  but  never  so  much  so  as  at  sea. 
A  man  dies  on  shore;  his  body  remains  with  his  friends,  and  '*the 
mourners  go  about  the  streets";  but  when  a  man  falls  overboard 
at  sea  and  is  lost,  there  is  a  suddenness  in  the  event,  and  a  diffi- 
culty in  realizing  it,  which  give  to  it  an  air  of  awful  mystery.  A 
man  dies  on  shore;  you  follow  his  body  to  the  grave,  and  a  stone 
marks  the  spot.  You  are  often  prepared  for  the  event.  There 
is  always  something  which  helps  you  to  realize  it  when  it  happens 
and  to  recall  it  when  it  has  passed.  A  man  is  shot  down  by  your 
side  in  battle;  and  the  mangled  body  remains  an  object  and  a  real 
evidence.  But  at  sea  the  man  is  near  you,  at  your  side;  you  hear 
his  voice;  and  in  an  instant  he  is  gone,  and  nothing  but  a  vacancy 
shows  his  loss.  Then,  too,  at  sea,  to  use  a  homely  but  expressive 
phrase,  you  miss  a  man  so  much.  A  dozen  men  are  shut  up  to- 
gether in  a  little  bark  upon  the  wide,  wide  sea,  and  for  months  and 
months  see  no  forms  and  hear  no  voices  but  their  own;  and  one 
is  suddenly  taken  from  among  them,  and  they  miss  him  at  every 
turn.  It  is  like  losing  a  limb.  There  are  no  new  faces  or  new 
scenes  to  fill  up  the  gap.  There  is  always  an  empty  berth  in  the 
forecastle,  and  one  man  wanting  when  the  small  night  watch  is 
mustered.  There  is  one  less  to  take  the  wheel,  and  one  less  to 
''lay  out"  with  you  upon  the  yard.  You  miss  his  form  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  for  habit  had  made  them  almost  necessary  to 
you,  and  each  of  your  senses  feels  the  loss. 
—  Richard  Henry  Dana,  Jr., 
^  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast,  Chapter  vi. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  19 


(Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth  on 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated 
to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal.j  Now  we  are 
engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any 
nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We  are 
met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  We  have  come  to  dedicate 
a  portion  of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who  here 
gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether 
fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this.  But,  in  a  larger  sense, 
we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this 
ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here, 
have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract. 
The  world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here; 
but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living, 
rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished  work  which  they  who 
fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us 
to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us,  — 
that  from  these  honored  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that 
cause  for  which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion;  that 
we  here  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain; 
that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom; 
and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people, 
shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

—  Lincoln,  Gettysburg  Address. 

The  means  of  clearness  thus  far  discussed  in  this  chapter 
all  rest  upon  one  principle,  the  principle  of  staying  by  a 
single  idea  until  it  is  thoroughly  understood,  the  principle 
commonly  called  unity. 

4.   EMPHASIS 

Study  of  the  principle  of  unity  leads  at  once  to  a  second 
principle,  the  principle  of  emphasis.  Unity  bids  us  set  up 
one  sentence  as  our  guide  throughout.     To  develop  clearly 


20  .  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

the  controlling  idea  for  which  this  sentence  stands,  we  often 
use  iteration.  We  repeat  the  main  idea  in  various  forms 
for  the  sake  of  dwelling  upon  it;  and  we  are  especially- 
careful  to  repeat  it  in  some  striking  manner  at  the  end. 
In  a  word,  we  take  care  that  our  point  shall  be  empha- 
sized. By  iteration  we  give  it  space;  by  ending  with  it  we 
give  it  prominence.  These  are  the  two  ways  of  securing 
clearness  by  emphasis. 

Proportioning  the  Space.  —  Emphasis  of  space,  emphasis 
by  dwelling  most  upon  what  enforces  the  point  most,  is 
clear  in  Lincoln^s  Gettysburg  speech  above.  The  best 
honor  that  we  can  pay  these  dead  soldiers  is  to  preserve  the 
Union  for  which  they  died,  —  every  part  of  the  speech  helps 
to  bring  out  this  one  main  idea;  i.e.,  the  speech  has  unity. 
But  not  every  part  helps  equally.  Some  parts  enforce  the 
subject  directly;  others  help  indirectly  by  preparing  the  way. 
The  former  Lincoln  emphasized  by  giving  them  more  space; 
the  latter  he  passed  over  lightly.  In  urging  his  message 
for  the  present  and  the  future  he  referred  to  the  past.  This 
prepared  his  hearers  by  reminding  them  of  the  great  historic 
principle  on  which  his  message  was  based.  But  since 
reference  to  the  past  helped  him  indirectly,  since  for  his 
purpose  it  was  merely  preparatory,  he  did  not  dwell  on  it. 
He  passed  at  once  to  the  present,  and  he  dwelt  upon  that 
only  to  show  its  bearing  upon  the  future.  The  past  he 
disposes  of  in  the  first  sentence.  The  second  sentence, 
turning  to  the  present,  begins  at  once  to  look  toward  his 
message  for  the  future,  "  testing  whether  that  nation  .  .  . 
can  long  endure.'^  The  third  and  fourth  sentences  deal 
with  the  present  in  the  same  way,  looking  again  toward  his 
message  for  the  future  —  "that  that  nation  might  live." 
The  rest  of  tlte  speech,  more  than  one  half,  beginning 
"  But  .  .  .  lye,"  dwells  upon  his  message  directly.  First 
negatively,  and  then  positively,  it   urges   his   hearers   to 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  2\ 

devote  themselves.     In  a  word  the  speech  is  well  propor- 
tioned. 

Now  suppose  this  due  emphasis  of  space  changed.  Sup- 
pose the  speech,  keeping  the  same  number  of  words,  to 
have  dwelt  longer  on  the  past,  and  on  the  present  more  for 
itself  than  for  his  message. 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth  upon 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty  aad  dedicated 
to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal.  This  principle, 
of  democratic  free  government  is  our  heritage.  To  establish  it, 
many  of  the  fathers  laid  down  their  lives ;  to  secure  it,  the  others 
imited  imder  the  Constitution.  Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great 
civil  war,  testing  whether  this  nation,  or  any  nation,  so  conceived 
and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  For  that  is  the  meaning  of  this 
terrible  struggle.  The  older  nations  of  Europe  long  ago  prophesied 
that  such  a  government  could  not  endure.  Democracy  is  on 
trial.  We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  The  ground 
upon  which  we  stand  trembled  with  the  shock  of  armies.  We  have 
come  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for 
those  who  here  gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It 
is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this.  Where 
they  fought,  there  we  secure  their  memory  and  mark  our  gratitude. 
But  in  a  larger  sense  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate, 
we  cannot  hallow,  this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead, 
who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it  far  beyond  our  power  to 
add  or  detract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long  remember, 
what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It 
is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished 
work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced. 

The  obvious  inferiority  of  this  form  is  due  partly,  of 
course,  to  the  substitution  of  other  words  for  Lincoln's; 
but  it  is  due  mainly  to  the  throwing  of  the  whole  out  of 
proportion.  If  Lincoln  himself  had  arranged  his  space  so, 
however  eloquent  his  words,  he  would  have  made  his  speech 
weaker.     His  clearness  of  thought  and  his  training  in  public 


1 


22  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

address  led  him  to  pass  rapidly  over  parts  which,  however 
important  they  might  be  for  another  purpose,  were  for  his 
present  purpose  subordinate,  and  to  spend  upon  that  present 
purpose  the  greater  part  of  his  time.  He  dwelt,  not  upon 
the  past,  nor  upon  the  present  for  itself,  but  upon  the  deep 
significance  for  the  future.  He  dwelt,  not  upon  his  prep- 
aration, but  upon  his  point.  Every  speech  or  essay  in  real 
life  must  be  made  to  fit  a  pretty  definite  space.  If,  then, 
the  speaker  emphasizes  his  subordinate  parts,  he  sacrifices 
his  main  part.  Even  if  his  speech  have  unity,  it  may  fail 
from  faulty  emphasis.  Lincoln  decided  to  make  a  very 
brief,  concise  speech.  In  the  time  that  he  set  for  himself 
he  wished  to  impress  the  message  of  responsibility  for  the 
future  of  the  Union.  He  wished  his  hearers  to  remember 
the  glory  of  the  past  and  the  solemnity  of  the  present  mainly 
as  calling  for  devotion  in  the  future.  This  intention  is 
exactly  carried  out  in  the  proportioning  of  his  little  space. 
He  deliberately  keeps  down  the  one,  that  he  may  dwell 
upon  the  other.  The  principle  of  unity  says,  What  does 
not  bear  on  the  subject  should  be  left  out.  The  principle 
of  emphasis  adds.  What  bears  upon  the  subject  most  directly 
should  have  most  space. 

This  means  first  of  all,  since  your  themes  are  short,  cut 
down  the  introduction.  Come  to  your  point  quickly,  that 
you  may  have  time  to  develop  it  fully.  Secondly,  bring 
everything  to  bear  upon  your  point.  If  an  example  has 
some  features  which,  though  interesting  in  themselves,  will 
not  make  your  point  clearer,  do  not  hesitate  to  omit  these. 
Be  as  interesting  as  you  know  how  to  be;  but  be  interesting 
on  the  point.  If  you  use  an  illustration,  be  sure  that  it  will 
really  make  the  whole  clearer.  Never  dwell  upon  an  illus- 
tration because  ^it  is  pretty  in  itself.  Usually  let  contrast 
be  brief;  for  if  you  spend  much  time  in  showing  what  a 
thing  is  not,  you  may  have  too  little  to  show  directly  what 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  23 

it  is.     In  all  these  ways  cultivate  a  habit  of  measuring 
your  space. 

Wind  is  due  to  difference  of  temperature, 
(First  form) 

Wind  is  a  mysterious  thing.  It  can  be  felt  and  heard,  but  it 
can  never  be  seen.  Wind  is  air  in  motion;  but  what  makes  the 
air  move?  Some  winds  are  strong  enough  to  turn  umbrellas  inside 
out  and  make  a  bicyclist  work  as  if  he  were  going  up  a  steep  hill; 
others  are  so  gentle  that  we  can  hardly  feel  them;  but  we  cannot 
see  anything  to  make  them  strong  or  gentle,  because  we  cannot 
see  anything  to  make  them  at  all.  But,  like  some  other  things 
that  seem  mysterious,  winds  can  be  explained.  Some  cold  winter 
day,  when  the  air  is  so  still  that  you  cannot  feel  it  moving  at 
all,  come  into  a  warm  room  and  open  the  window  a  little.  Hold 
your  hand  against  the  crack,  and  you  will  feel  the  air  rushing 
against  your  hand.  That  is  what  we  call  a  draft;  and  a  wind  is 
nothing  but  a  big  draft.  If  you  go  out  to  the  barn,  where  the  air 
is  as  cold  inside  as  it  is  outside,  and  hold  your  hand  against  a  win- 
dow crack,  you  will  feel  no  wind  at  all.  There  is  nothing  to  make 
one.  The  temperature  is  the  same  within  and  without.  Air  is 
set  in  motion  by  some  difference  of  temperature.  When  the 
atmosphere  that  surrounds  our  earth  becomes  heated  in  a  certain 
area,  it  expands  and  rises  and  colder  air  moves  in  from  some  less 
heated  spot.  So  there  are  regular  winds,  called  trade  winds, 
blowing  over  a  large  area  just  because  some  countries  are 
warmer  than  others.  Other  winds  blow  only  for  a  short  time 
or  a  short  space  because  they  come  from  some  sudden  change  of 
temperature.  Such  is  the  wind  caused  by  a  great  fire  like  the  one 
in  Baltimore.  If  you  put  some  water  in  a  glass  retort  over  a  flame 
and  watch  it  closely,  you  can  soon  see  it  move  round  and  round 
from  bottom  to  top  and  top  to  bottom.  The  water  at  the  bottom, 
nearest  the  flame,  expands  first  and  sends  up  bubbles  of  gas.  The 
colder  water  at  the  top  moves  down  to  take  its  place,  imtil  the 
whole  is  dancing  and  bubbling  and  sending  out  puffs  of  steam. 
These  currents  made  by  heat  in  water  are  like  the  currents  made 
by  heat  in  air. 


24  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

This  theme,  though  it  keeps  the  principle  of  unity,  vio- 
lates the  principle  of  emphasis.  All  its  parts  bear  more  or 
less  on  the  subject;  but  those  which  are  most  important,  as 
bearing  most  directly,  have  no  more  space  than  those  whose 
importance  is  much  less.  The  revision  below  was  made  on 
the  principle  of  emphasis.  It  keeps  the'  same  length.  Com- 
pare the  two  as  to  proportion  of  space. 

Wind  is  due  to  difference  of  temperature, 

(Second  form,  revised  for  emphasis) 

What  makes  the  wind  blow?  However  much  we  hear  it  and 
feel  it,  we  can  never  see  it  or  see  what  makes  it.  So  we  need  to 
investigate.  Some  cold  winter  day,  when  the  air  is  so  still  that 
you  say  there  is  no  wind  at  all,  come  into  a  warm  room  and  open 
the  window  a.  little.  Hold  your  hand  against  the  crack,  and  you 
will  feel  the  air  rushing  in.  That  is  what  we  call  a  draft,  and  a 
wind  is  nothing  but  a  big  draft.  If  you  hold  your  hand  in  the 
same  way  against  a  window  crack  in  the  barn,  where  the  air  inside 
is  as  cold  as  the  air  outside,  you  will  feel  no  wind  at  all.  Air  is 
set  in  motion  by  difference  of  temperature;  and  air  in  motion  is 
wind.  The  same  thing  happens  in  water;  only  there  we  can  see 
it.  If  you  heat  some  water  in  a  glass  retort,  watching  it  closely, 
you  can  soon  see  it  move  round  and  round  from  bottom  to  top 
and  top  to  bottom.  The  water  at  the  bottom,  nearest  the  heat, 
expands  first  and  sends  up  bubbles  of  gas.  The  colder  water  at 
the  top  moves  down  to  take  its  place,  until  the  whole  is  heated 
alike.  These  currents  made  by  heat  in  water  are  like  the  currents 
made  by  heat  in  air.  In  other  words,  they  are  like  wind.  When 
the  air  over  our  town  is  heated  by  the  sun  in  summer,  if  the  air 
over  the  ocean  is  cooler,  pretty  soon  it  comes  in  to  fill  the  place 
of  the  expanding  and  rising  hot  air,  and  we  have  a  sea  breeze. 
A  breeze  is  a  light  wind.  If  the  difference  of  temperature  is  great 
or  sudden  and  continuous,  we  have  a  heavy  wind,  such  as  is  caused 
by  a  conflagration  like  the  Baltimore  fire.  So  in  general,  when- 
ever the  atmosphere  that  surrounds  our  earth  becomes  more 
heated  over  one  area  than  over  another,  it  makes  room  for  the 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  25 

colder  air  to  come  in  from  the  less  heated  area.  This  colder 
air  is  heated  in  turn ;  more  cold  air  moves  in ;  and  so  a  regular  cur- 
rent of  air  is  set  up,  —  in  other  words,  a  wind.  The  parts  of  the 
earth's  surface  near  the  equator  are  warmer  than  the  parts 
farther  away.  So  there  are  constant  winds,  called  trade  winds, 
blowing  over  a  large  area  because  some  countries  are  always  warmer 
than  others.  Thus  it  is  plain  that  all  winds,  whether  strong  or 
gentle,  whether  local  or  general,  are  set  in  motion  by  differences 
of  temperature. 

Iterating  at  the  End.  —  This  revision  follows  also  the 
other  means  of  emphasis  by  ending  with  an  iteration  of  the 
point.  For  emphasis  may  be  secured,  not  only  by  due 
proportion  of  space,  but  also  by  prominence  of  position. 
The  most  prominent  position  is  the  end.  Whatever  is  said 
last  sticks  in  the  mind,  partly  from  the  very  fact  of  its 
coming  last,  partly  from  our  natural  expectation  of  hearing 
at  the  end  the  result  of  the  whole.  Therefore  end  always 
with  the  point.  This  final  iteration  of  the  point  may  be, 
as  in  the  theme  just  above,  a  summary;  or  it  may  be,  as  in 
Lincoln's  great  speech,  the  largest  and  strongest  statement, 
-r- "  here  highly  resolve  that  government  of  the  people,  by 
the  people,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the 
earth.''  The  latter  form  is  generally  the  more  emphatic, 
especially  in  a  speech;  but  either  satisfies  everybody's 
natural  desire  for  a  definite  conclusion^ 

Without  such  a  close  even  a  theme  otherwise  good  loses 
much  of  its  force.  It  seems,  instead  of  concluding,  merely 
to  falter  and  stop.  Readers,  and  hearers  still  more,  are 
likely  to  think  the  whole  is  weak  if  the  end  is  weak.  They 
are  not  satisfied;  they  may  even  forget  the  point.  The  first 
form  of  the  theme  above  on  wind  fails  to  be  clear,  because 
it  ends  lamely  with  an  illustration.  Without  its  title  it 
would  by  no  means  be  sure  of  making  a  reader  understand 
what  it  all  amounted  to.     That  is  what  every  one  wishes 


26  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

to  know  surely  at  the  end,  —  what  it  all  amounts  to.  What 
you  wish  everybody  to  remember  as  the  gist  of  the  whole, 
put  at  the  end. 

5.  COHERENCE 

The  third  principle  of  clearness  in  composition  is  the 
principle  of  order,  or  coherence.  The  principle  of  unity 
holds  each  part  to  a  single  point;  the  principle  of  emphasis 
spaces  each  part  according  to  its  value,  and  insists  upon  a 
clear,  strong  ending;  the  principle  of  order  or  coherence 
puts  each  part  in  such  a  place  as  will  make  the  whole  easy 
to  follow.  A  composition  is  coherent  when  the  people  that 
listen  to  it,  or  read  it,  follow  it  readily.  "I  can't  follow 
you''  —  when  a  hearer  says  that,  or  a  reader  thinks  it,  the 
composition  is  incoherent.  You  must  arrange  so  that  the 
people  you  are  addressing  will  go  on  as  fast  as  you  do,  will 
be  with  you  at  every  stage. 

Though  there  is  no  one  fixed  order,  best  for  all  occasions, 
there  are  some  helpful  general  guides.  For  instance,  we 
have  already  seen  (page  15)  that  the  first  sentence  is 
often  a  statement  of  the  subject,  and  that  the  last  sentence 
(page  25)  is  usually  an  iteration.  But  what  requires  care  in 
coherence  is  the  body  of  the  composition;  and  here  the 
principle  may  be  applied  generally  by  considering  the  object. 
The  object  of  this  kind  of  writing  is  to  explain  or  persuade. 
For  this  purpose  it  is  generally  best  to  put  first  what  your 
audience  knows  already  or  can  grasp  most  readily,  to  put 
next  whichever  of  your  parts  is  most  readily  connected 
with  this,  and  so  on  to  lead  from  the  known  to  the  unknown, 
from  the  smaller  to  the  larger,  from  the  easier  to  the  harder, 
—  in  a  word,  to  follow  the  order  of  difficulty.  Coherence, 
then,  means  i^  general,  make  each  part  prepare  for  the 
next. 

Beginning  where  the  Audience  is,  —  How  to  begin  and  how 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  27 

to  go  on,  —  these  are  the  practical  questions  of  coherence. 
The  answer  to  both  will  be  helped  by  remembering  the 
maxim,  Put  yourself  in  his  place.  In  the  light  of  this  the 
questions  become  more  definite:  How  shall  I  begin  so  as 
to  prepare  my  hearers  for  the  subject?  and,  What  order 
of  parts  will  make  it  easiest  for  them  to  go  on  with  me? 
The  beginning  of  a  short  theme  had  better  take  hold  of  the 
subject  at  once;  but  it  should  aim  also  to  take  hold  of 
the  audience.  Try  to  take  hold  of  both  at  once.  Try  at  the 
same  time  to  catch  attention  and  to  direct  it  to  the  subject. 
The  first  form  of  the  theme  on  wind  (page  23)  catches  the 
attention  of  the  audience  by  suggesting  a  mystery  in  some- 
thing familiar;  but  it  is  slow  in  directing  the  attention  to 
the  subject.  It  spends  too  much  time  in  talking  about  the 
force  of  winds  before  coming  to  the  real  point,  their  cause. 
The  beginning  of  the  second  form  is  just  as  good  for  catching 
attention,  and  much  better  for  directing  it.  It  turns  the 
attention  at  once  to  the  subject.  Think  of  a  beginning  that 
will  both  catch  the  attention  by  referring  to  something  famil- 
iar and  at  the  same  time  direct  the  attention  to  the  subject.- 

Look  back  over  your  themes  to  see  whether  they  take  hold,  in 
this  way,  of  the  audience  and  the  subject.  When  you  find  one 
that  does  not,  write  a  new  beginning.  Criticize  the  beginnings 
of  a  number  of  old  themes  read  aloud  in  class.  Look  back  over 
the  beginnings  of  the  passages  quoted  in  this  chapter.  Some  of 
them,  since  they  are  detached  from  their  context,  really  need  new 
beginnings  to  make  them  effective  by  themselves.  Selecting  one 
of  which  this  seems  to  be  true,  write  such  a  new  opening  sentence 
for  it  as  will  make  it  take  hold  better  of  your  class.  Others  of 
the  passages  begin  well  as  they  stand.  Point  out  one  of  these, 
and  show  why. 

Leading  the  Audience  Step  by  Step.  —  The  next  ques- 
tion is  how  to  go  on.  Look  again  at  the  theme  on  wind 
(page  24).    The  revision  for  emphasis  has  also  improved 


28  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

its  coherence.  The  illustration  of  boiling  water  and  the 
example  of  trade  winds  have  been  transposed.  Why  does 
this  change  of  order  make  the  whole  clearer?  Because  now 
we  pass  more  readily  from  the  simple  instance  of  a  draft  to 
the  simple  illustration  of  boiling  water,  which  at  once  makes 
us  see  more  clearly  how  heat  makes  a  current.  And  the  Bal- 
timore fire  is  more  effective  before  the  trade  winds  because 
it  is  at  once  more  marked  and  so  limited  in  its  area  that 
the  rise  and  fall  of  the  current  can  be  easily  observed.  Thus 
we  can  grasp  its  significance  more  readily.  Having  grasped 
this  instance,  we  are  readier  to  comprehend  the  trade  winds 
than  we  should  have  been  if  they  had  come  first.  The  re- 
vised order  of  this  theme,  then,  iteration  excluded,  is: 

1.  A  raising  of  the  question. 

2.  A  simple,  familiar  instance,  with  a  contrast  (a  draft). 

3.  A  simple  illustration  to  enforce  it  (boiling  water). 

4.  Another  instance,  larger,  but  still  familiar  (a  sea  breeze) . 

5.  A  third  instance,  very  marked  (the  Baltimore  fire). 

6.  The  largest,  most  general  instance  (trade-winds). 
The  theme  is  easier  to  follow  because  it  has  a  more  careful 

plan. 

Plan,  —  For  coherence  demands  a  plan.  The  order  in 
which  thoughts  on  the  subject  come  into  one^s  head  is  not 
at  all  likely  to  be  the  best  order  for  putting  the  whole  before 
some  one  else.  What  comes  to  mind  first  may  find  its 
place  in  the  theme  last  or  midway.  Our  thoughts  throng 
and  wander;  our  speech  must  be  single  and  connected. 
Therefore  the  only  way  is  first  to  jot  down  brief  notes  of 
our  thoughts  as  they  come,  and  then  to  arrange  these  notes 
according  to  a  plan. 

And  this  plan  had  better  be  written.  It  need  not  be 
written  in  marJy  words;  but  it  will  probably  be  more  definite 
if  it  is  set  down  on  paper.  The  order  of  the  theme  on 
wind  mav  be  indicated  very  briefly: 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  29 

1.  Draft  at  window  —  current  from  difference  of  temperature. 

2.  Boiling  water  —  current  from  difference  of  temperature. 

3.  Sea  breeze,  air  cooler  over  water. 

4.  Conflagration,  violent  change. 

5.  Trade  winds,  large,  regular,  from  tropics. 

That  would  mean  little  to  any  one  else;  but  to  the  writer 
it  might  be  enough  as  a  memorandum  to  speak  or  write 
from;  for  it  indicates  what  is  the  only  vital  concern  —  the 
order.  Indeed,  after  once  settling  the  order,  a  speaker  can 
gradually  accustom  himself  to  remember  it  without  having 
it  in  his  hand.  But  he  can  never  gain  or  keep  this  confi- 
dence unless  he  always  fixes  his  plan  first;  and  the  best  way 
to  fix  it  in  most  cases  is  to  put  it  down  in  black  and  white. 
No  one  can  speak  with  confidence,  or  make  his  hearers  or 
readers  follow,  unless  he  is  quite  sure  what  to  say  next. 
First,  jot  down  thoughts  on  the  subject  as  they  come;  then 
decide  what  order  will  bring  these  out  most  clearly  and 
strongly,  and  jot  this  order  down;  then  speak  or  write  fully 
and  freely  according  to  this  plan.  See  if  plan-making,  as  it 
grows  firmer  by  habit,  does  not  help  you  to  think  more 
clearly,  to  speak  with  more  confidence,  and  to  be  more 
effective  on  others. 

The  oral  criticisms  prescribed  above  (page  15)  may  now  be 
expanded  as  follows: 

1.  What  main  point  did  he  fix?  (Give  the  subject  sentence  and 
tell  whether  it  was  announced.) 

2.  How  did  he  take  hold?  (What  was  the  method  of  intro- 
duction?) 

3.  How  did  he  go  on?  (a.  method  of  development,  by  example, 
illustration,  etc.;  6.  order  of  points.) 

4.  How  did  he  bring  home?  (a.  final  iteration  for  emphasis. 
b.  use  of  familiar,  interesting  words.     See  page  147.) 

Try  now  gradually  to  dispense  with  notes.  The  report  may  be 
kept  in  clear  coherence  by  following  the  four  points  above  in  ordet'^ 


30  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF^  CLEARNESS 

6.  THE  DISTINCTION  BETWEEN  EXPOSITION 
AND  ARGUMENT 

The  main  difference  between  exposition  and  argument 
is  that  argument  goes  further.  It  aims  to  make  people 
understand,  indeed,  and  therefore  it  gives  instances  and 
comparisons;  but  it  aims  further  to  make  people  assent  and 
act,  and  therefore  it  uses  instances  and  comparisons  in  such 
a  way  as  to  prove.  For  the  subject  of  an  argument'  is  a 
sentence  requiring  proof.  The  United  States  was  justified 
in  going  to  war  with  Mexico,  —  such  a  subject  sentence 
needs  for  its  development,  not  only  statement  of  the  facts, 
but  also  reasoning  from  the  facts,  not  only  exposition,  but 
argument.  It  is  usually  called  a  proposition;  i.e.,  a  state- 
ment put  forward  as  a  challenge.  Congress  should  create  a 
national  bureau  of  health,  is  a  proposition.  A  proposition 
does  not  merely  define  or  sum  up;  it  implies  some  dispute 
or  opposition,  and  challenges  debate.  Those  who  put  it 
forward  say  in  effect:  This  is  what  we  believe,  and  shall  try 
by  reasoning  to  make  you  believe.  Moreover,  for  argu- 
ment, a  subject  sentence  is  not  only  desirable;  it  is  necessary. 
A  word  or  a  phrase  is  not  sufficient  to  guide  argument  to  a 
definite  conclusion.  The  war  with  Mexico  may  be  explained, 
though  a  brief  exposition  would  demand  some  further 
limitation;  but  it  cannot  be  argued  at  all.  For  argument 
we  must  have  a  subject  sentence,  such  as  the  one  above. 
Employers^  liability  —  what  of  it?  Employers  should  be 
liable  for  damages  received  by  employees  in  the  course  of  em- 
ployment —  at  once  we  know  what  is  to  be  proved  or  dis- 
proved. Boycott,  prohibition,  state  railroads,  tariff,  large 
navy  —  any  oTf  these  topics  may  be  argued  all  day  without 
reaching  any  conclusion,  unless  the  point  at  issue  be  first 
settled  in  a  sentence. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS  31 

Differing  thus  in  particular,  exposition  and  argument  are 
alike  in  general;  that  is,  in  the  fundamental  methods  of 
clearness.  Both  seek  unity  by  Umiting  the  subject,  em- 
phasis by  announcing  it  and  iterating,  coherence  by  orderly 
plan.  And  the  two  are  so  commonly  combined  that  it  is 
often  hard  to  decide  by  which  name  to  call  the  whole 
composition.  Every  argument  demands  exposition;  any 
exposition  runs  easily  into  argument  as  the  writer  becomes 
more  interested.  Some  of  the  expositions  written  in  con- 
nection with  this  chapter  might  as  well,  perhaps,  be  called 
arguments.  Nor  need  any  one  be  anxious  as  to  the  name 
of  the  whole.  But  every  one  should  be  careful  as  to  which 
he  is  doing  in  a  given  part,  and  able  to  explain  without 
argument  when  he  wishes  to  or  needs  to.  Exposition  shows 
what  a  thing  is  or  was;  argument  shows  what  a  thing  ought  ! 
to  be  or  ought  to  have  been.  Every  honest  man  must  wish, 
and  every  educated  man  must  know  how,  to  avoid  confus- 
ing the  two  or  sacrificing  the  former  to  the  latter.  Pro- 
vided the  two  are  thus  distinguished,  exposition  being  put 
forward  as  exposition,  argument  as  argument,  they  may 
be  freely  combined  in  the  same  speech  or  essay. 

Argument  is  discussed  fully  in  Chapters  vi.  and  vii. 

Which  theme-subjects  in  the  preceding  pages  suggest  argument 
rather  than  exposition?  Which  of  the  expositions  quoted  are 
most  argumentative,  and  which  are  freest  from  argument? 

Frame  three  propositions  for  argument  on  matters  of  current 
interest,  wording  each  precisely. 

Frame  propositions  for  debate  on  three  of  the  following: 

1.  Large  College  or  Small?  6.  The  Restriction  of  Immigration. 

2.  College  before  Business.  7.  Postal  Savings  Banks. 

3.  The  Study  of  Greek.  8.  Direct  Primaries. 

4.  School  Fraternities.  9.  TheChallenge  toRow  with. 

5.  City  Life  vs.  Country  Life.  10.  Intercollegiate  Football. 

(Informal  class  or  society  debates  will  be  of  profit  here.    With- 


32  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CLEARNESS 

out  formal  organization  into  an  affirmative  and  a  negative  team, 
the  sides  may  be  called  up  alternatively.  Speeches  need  not 
exceed  five  minutes.  Each  should  be  written  out  after  the  de- 
bate (not  before)  as  a  theme.  Practice  should  be  directed  mainly 
(a)  to  developing  a  single  main  point  fully  up  to  an  emphatic 
close;  (6)  to  holding  the  attention  of  the  audience). 

SUMMARY  OF  THE  CHAPTER 

Introduction.    Clearness  is  studied  best  in  that  kind  of  writing 
which  aims  to  explain  or  prove. 

1.  Clear  explanation  (exposition)  or  proof  (argument)  develops 
fully  from  a  single  guiding  sentence  (unity), 

2.  Clear  exposition  or  argument  proportions  the  space  and  ends 
with  the  point  {emphasis). 

3.  Clear  exposition  or  argument  catches  the  attention  at  the 
start  and  leads  it  along  by  a  plan  (coherence), 

4.  In  argument  the  guiding  sentence  is  a  challenge  supported 
by  reasons. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF   INTEREST 

The  themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  should  be  frequent  turitten 
descriptionSj  daily  if  that  be  possible,  of  about  two  hundred  words. 
Describe  usually  in  the  form  of  a  story.  Try  above  all  to  be  inter- 
esting by  making  a  reader  imagine  himself  in  your  scene. 

1.  INTEREST  STUDIED  BEST  IN  DESCRIPTION 

The  principles  of  unity,  emphasis,  and  coherence  are  so 
broad  and  constant  that  they  will  be  found  helpful  in  all 
kinds  of  writing.  But  since  the  rules  derived  from  them 
in  the  previous  chapter  apply  mainly  to  one  kind  of  writing, 
it  is  better  to  seek  other  rules  for  the  other  kind.  All  writ- 
ing may  be  divided  into  two  classes  (page  3):  (1)  exposi- 
tion and  argument,  aiming  to  be  clear;  (2)  description  and 
narration,  aiming  to  be  interesting.  Having  learned  some 
main  points  about  the  first,  let  us  now  examine  the  second. 
Then  we  can  compare  conclusions,  to  see  how  practice  in 
either  kind  may  help  the  other.  Interest  depends  upon 
adaptation,  upon  choosing  what  will  awaken  sympathy 
between  speaker  and  hearer,  between  writer  and  reader. 
In  order  to  find  more  definitely  how  to  arouse  and  keep  this 
sympathetic  interest,  we  need  now  to  study  separately  that 
kind  of  writing  which  seeks  it  as  a  main  object. 

Now  that  kind  of  writing  is  the  descriptive  or  narrative 
kind;  for  men  and  women  through  all  time  have  always 
found  it  the  more  interesting. 

4  33 


34  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

Carving  the  Christmas  Goose 
Such  a  bustle  ensued  that  you  might  have  thought  a  goose 
the  rarest  of  all  birds,  a  feathered  phenomenon,  to  which  a  black 
swan  was  a  matter  of  course  —  and  in  truth  it  was  something  very 
like  it  in  that  house.  Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the  gravy  (ready  before- 
hand in  a  little  saucepan)  hissing  hot;  Master  Peter  mashed  the 
potatoes  with  incredible  vigour;  Miss  Belinda  sweetened  up  the 
apple-sauce;  Martha  dusted  the  hot  plates;  Bob  took  Tiny  Tim 
beside  him  in  a  tiny  corner  at  the  table;  the  two  young  Cratchits 
set  chairs  for  everybody,  not  forgetting  themselves,  and  mounting 
guard  upon  their  posts,  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths  lest 
they  should  shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be  helped. 
At  last  the  dishes  were  set  on  and  grace  was  said.  It  was  succeeded 
by  a  breathless  pause,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit,  looking  slowly  all  along 
the  carving-knife,  prepared  to  plunge  it  in  the  breast;  but  when 
she  did,  and  when  the  long-expected  gush  of  stuffing  issued  forth, 
one  murmur  of  delight  arose  all  around  the  board;  and  even  Tiny 
Tim,  excited  by  the  two  young  Cratchits,  beat  on  the  table  with 
the  handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried  Hurrah! 

—  Dickens,  A  Christmas  Carol. 

2.   CLAIMING  INTEREST   (EMPHASIS) 

What  makes  this  description  interesting?  Not  any 
novelty  in  the  subject;  for  that  is  so  familiar  as  to  be  com- 
monplace. The  same  thing  has  happened  over  and  over 
again  to  thousands.  Dickens  teaches  us  first  of  all,  then, 
that  in  order  to  be  interesting  we  need  not  write  of  any- 
thing extraordinary.  Few  of  us  have  seen  the  glaciers  of 
Alaska,  or  shot  tigers  in  the  jungle,  or  been  wrecked  at  sea. 
If  novelty  of  subject  were  necessary,  most  of  us  must  give 
up  trying.  Now  though  novelty  of  subject  may  be  inter- 
esting too,  the  passage  shows  us  that  we  all  keep  an  interest 
in  ordinary,  falttiiliar  things.  Is  not  the  description  above 
interesting  precisely  because  it  is  familiar?  Does  it  not 
appeal  to  us  because  we  have  had  like  pleasures  ourselves? 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  35 

A  subject  may  be  interesting,  then,  by  reminding  us  of 
common  human  experiences. 

Abundance  of  Details.  —  But  how  does  this  description 
remind  us  of  our  own  past  feasts?  Its  method  of  appeal  will 
become  clearer  by  contrast. 

Carving  the  Christmas  Goose 
Such  a  bustle  ensued  that  you  might  have  thought  the  viands 
very  unusual,  phenomena  quite  unparalleled;  and  in  truth  they 
were  nearly  so  in  that  house.  While  several  members  of  the  fam- 
ily prepared  the  various  dishes,  the  others  took  their  places  with 
great  expectation.  At  last  everything  was  ready,  and  the  grace 
was  said.  As  the  carving  began,  every  one  gave  vent  to  eager 
delight. 

All  the  interest  is  gone.  Yet  all  the  facts  are  kept.  The 
interest,  then,  cannot  be  merely  in  the  facts  themselves;  it 
must  be  in  the  way  of  telling  them.  The  rewriting  leaves 
out  all  the  specific  details:  the  particular  people  and  things, 
the  particular  motions  and  attitudes,  the  particular  sounds 
and  smells.  And  it  is  precisely  the  mention  of  such  par- 
ticular things,  such  definite  sounds,  sights,  and  smells, 
which  puts  us  into  sympathy  with  the  writer,  which  awakens 
our  interest  by  helping  us  to  imagine  ourselves  on  the  spot, 
which,  as  we  say,  puts  us  there.  The  first  lesson  in  inter- 
est is  to  stimulate  imagination  by  an  abundance  of  sensa- 
tions, by  realizing  the  situation  definitely  in  its  sounds,  light, 
colors,  smells,  —  in  a  word  by  specific  mention  of  concrete 
details. 
I  The  way  to  be  interesting,  then,  is  not  merely  to  state 
/  facts,  but  to  suggest  feelings.  Clearness  is  sought  by 
developing  ideas  for  the  understanding;  but  interest  is 
sought  rather  by  suggesting  sensations  to  the  imagination. 
Clearness  is  an  affair  of  the  head;  interest  is  of  the  heart. 
"The  others  took  their  places  with  great  expectation*'  — 


36  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

that  is  clear  enough;  but  it  leaves  us  cold.  "  The  two  young 
Cratchits  .  .  .  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths  lest  they 
should  shriek  for  goose''  —  at  once  we  have  a  picture  in 
our  minds.  We  sympathize,  we  share  the  writer's  feeling, 
we  are  interested,  because  he  gives  us  concrete  images. 

Selecting  from  the  topics  below  the  scene  most  familiar 
to  you,  make  lists  of  the  characteristic  sounds,  sights, 
smells,  etc.,  that  you  associate  with  it,  as  follows:  — 

The  End  of  the  Wharf 

Sound,  lapping  of  water  against  the  piles  —  creaking  of  pulleys 

—  distant  flutter  of  paddle-wheels  —  screaming  of  gulls,  etc. 
Smelly  low  tide  —  tar  —  fish  drying,  etc. 

Motion  and  Attitude,  heaving  of  a  moored  schooner  —  wheeling 
of  gulls  —  man  pulling  up  a  sail  —  barefoot  boy  cleaning  deck  — 
old  sailor  sitting  on  a  post,  stoop-shouldered,  smoking  clay  pipe, 

—  water  dancing,  etc. 

Color  and  Light,  water  blue  in  strong  sunlight  —  white  caps  — 
cloud  shadows  —  red  flag  on  yacht  club  across  the  bay  —  green 
lawn  with  black  cedars  behind  —  aspens  on  point  to  right  showing 
silver- white  side  of  their  leaves  in  the  wind  —  new  mast  of  sloop 
near  by  yellow  in  the  sun,  etc. 

Form  and  Outline,  looking  through  leaning  masts  across  open 
water  to  yacht-house  point  and  rounded  hills  behind;  harbor  a 
horseshoe  made  by  a  jutting  point  on  each  side,  etc. 

1.  The  Waiting-Room  at  the  Railroad  Station. 

2.  The  Bridge  over  the  Railroad  Yards. 

3.  Feeding  the  Stock  on  a  Winter  Morning. 

4.  A  Busy  Office  on  the  Tenth  Story. 

5.  In  a  Sleeping-car. 

6.  Night  in  Camp. 

7.  The  Stock  Yards. 

8.  Morning  Chapel. 

9.  A  Busy  Street  Corner. 

10.  Harvesting  Wheat. 

11.  The  Children's  Ward  in  the  Hospital. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  37 

12.  The  Last  Dance. 

13.  A  Baseball  Crowd. 

14.  Mail  Time  at  the  Post  Office  in  a  Country  Store. 

The  object  of  this  exercise  is  not  to  arrange  these,  details. 
It  would  hardly  be  interesting  to  read  them  in  groups,  all 
the  sounds  together,  then  all  the  smells,  etc.  The  object  is 
simply  to  see  how  many  concrete  details  the  mention  of  a 
familiar  scene  recalls  to  you.  Consider  selection  and  order 
afterwards.  First  simply  try  to  be  as  abundantly  concrete 
as  possible.  If  your  hst  be  compared  on  the  blackboard 
with  one  of  your  classmates^  for  the  same  scene,  each  will 
probably  be  surprised  to  find  on  the  other's  Hst  a  striking 
detail  not  given  on  his  own. 

Study  in  the  same  way,  i.e.,  by  making  similar  lists,  the 
abundance  of  concrete  detail  in  the  following.  They  will 
also  give  you  an  idea  in  advance  how  to  combine  concrete 
details  in  a  connected  description. 

Christmas  Eve  on  the  Street 
For  the  people  who  were  shovelling  away  on  the  housetops 
were  jovial  and  full  of  glee,  calling  out  to  one  another  from  the 
parapets,  and  now  and  then  exchanging  a  facetious  snow-ball  — 
better-natured  missile  far  than  many  a  wordy  jest  —  laughing 
heartily  if  it  went  right,  and  not  less  heartily  if  it  went  wrong. 
The  poulterers'  shops  were  still  half  open,  and  the  fruiterers'  were 
radiant  in  their  glory.  There  were  great,  round,  pot-bellied  bas- 
kets of  chestnuts,  shaped  like  the  waistcoats  of  jolly  old  gentle- 
men, lolling  at  the  doors,  and  tumbling  out  into  the  street  in  their 
apoplectic  opulence.  There  were  ruddy,  brown-faced,  broad- 
girthed  Spanish  onions,  shining  in  the  fatness  of  their  growth  like 
Spanish  Friars.  .  .  .  There  were  pears  and  apples,  clustered  high 
in  blooming  pyramids.  There  were  bunches  of  grapes,  made,  in 
the  shopkeepers'  benevolence,  to  dangle  from  conspicuous  hooks 
that  people's  mouths  might  water  gratis  as  they  passed.  There 
were  piles  of  filberts,  mossy  and  brown,  recalling,  in  their  fragrance, 


38  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

ancient  walks  among  the  woods,  and  pleasant  shufflings  ankle  deep 
through  withered  leaves.  There  were  Norfolk  Biffins,  squat  and 
swarthy,  setting  off  the  yellow  of  the  oranges  and  lemons,  and, 
in  the  great  compactness  of  their  juicy  persons,  urgently  entreat- 
ing and  beseeching  to  be  carried  home  in  paper  bags  and  eaten 
after  dinner.  The  very  gold  and  silver  fish,  set  forth  among  these 
choice  fruits  in  a  bowl,  though  members  of  a  dull  and  stagnant- 
blooded  race,  appeared  to  know  that  there  was  something  going 
on ;  and,  to  a  fish,  went  gasping  round  and  round  their  little  world 
in  slow  and  passionless  excitement. 

—  Dickens,  A  Christinas  Carol, 

Early  Spring  by  the  Mill  Stream 

The  stream  is  brimful,  now,  and  lies  high  in  this  little  withy 
plantation,  and  half  drowns  the  grassy  fringe  of  the  croft  in  front 
of  the  house.  As  I  look  at  the  full  stream,  the  vivid  grass,  the 
delicate  bright-green  powder  softening  the  outlines  of  the  great 
trunks  and  branches  that  gleam  from  under  the  bare  purple  boughs, 
I  am  in  love  with  moistness,  and  envy  the  white  ducks  that  are 
dipping  their  heads  far  into  the  water,  here  among  the  withes 
unmindful  of  the  awkward  appearance  they  make  in  the  drier 
world  above. 

The  rush  of  the  water  and  the  booming  of  the  mill  bring  a  dreary 
deafness,  which  seems  to  heighten  the  peacefulness  of  the  scene. 
They  are  like  a  great  curtain  of  sound,  shutting  one  out  from  the 
world  beyond.  Now  there  is  the  thunder  of  the  huge  covered 
wagon,  coming  home  with  sacks  of  grain.  That  honest  wagoner 
is  thinking  of  his  dinner's  getting  sadly  dry  in  the  oven  at  this 
late  hour;  but  he  will  not  touch  it  till  he  has  fed  his  horses,  —  the 
strong,  submissive,  meek-eyed  horses. 

See  how  they  stretch  their  shoulders  up  the  slope  toward  the 
bridge,  with  all  the  more  energy  because  they  are  so  near  home. 
Look  at  their  grand  shaggy  feet,  that  seem  to  grasp  the  firm  earth, 
—  at  the  patient  strength  of  their  necks,  bowed  under  the  heavy 
collar,  at  the  mighty  muscles  of  their  struggling  haunches!  I 
should  like  well  to  hear  them  neigh  over  their  hard-earned  feed 
of  corn,  and  see  them  with  their  moist  necks,  freed  from  the  har- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  39 

ness,  dipping  their  eager  nostrils  into  the  muddy  pond.  Now  they 
are  on  the  bridge,  and  down  they  go  again  at  a  swifter  pace;  and 
the  arch  of  the  covered  wagon  disappears  at  the  turning  behind  the 
trees. 

—  George  Eliot,  The  Mill  on  the  Floss. 

Tramping  with  a  Pack-donkey 

The  track  that  I  had  followed  in  the  evening  soon  died  out, 
and  I  continued  to  follow  over  a  bald  turf  ascent  a  row  of  stone 
pillars,  such  as  had  conducted  me  across  the  Goulet,  It  was  al- 
ready warm.  I  tied  my  jacket  on  the  pack,  and  walked  in  my 
knitted  waistcoat.  Modestine  herself  was  in  high  spirits,  and  broke 
of  her  own  accord,  for  the  first  time  in  my  experience,  into  a  jolt- 
ing trot  that  sent  the  oats  swashing  in  the  pocket  of  my  coat. 
The  view,  back  upon  the  northern  Gevaudan,  extended  with  every 
step.  Scarce  a  tree,  scarce  a  house,  appeared  upon  the  fields  of 
wild  hills  that  ran  north,  east,  and  west,  all  blue  and  gold  in  the 
haze  and  sunlight  of  the  morning.  A  multitude  of  little  birds  kept 
sweeping  and  twittering  about  my  path.  They  perched  on  the 
stone  pillars;  they  pecked  and  strutted  on  the  turf;  and  I  saw 
them  circle  in  volleys  in  the  blue  air,  and  show,  from  time  to  time, 
translucent  flickering  wings  between  the  sun  and  me. 

Almost  from  the  first  moment  of  my  march,  a  faint  large  noise, 
like  a  distant  surf,  had  filled  my  ears.  Sometimes  I  was  tempted 
to  think  it  the  voice  of  a  neighboring  waterfall,  and  sometimes 
a  subjective  result  of  the  utter  stillness  of  the  hill.  But  as  I  con- 
tinued to  advance,  the  noise  increased  and  became  like  the  hissing 
of  an  enormous  tea-urn ;  and  at  the  same  time  breaths  of  cool  air 
began  to  reach  me  from  the  direction  of  the  summit.  At  length  I 
understood.  It  was  blowing  stiffly  from  the  south  upon  the  other 
slope  of  the  Lozere,  and  every  step  that  I  took  I  was  drawing  nearer 
to  the  wind. 

—  Stevenson,  Travels  with  a  Donkey, 

Definiteness  of  Details.  —  The  concrete  detail  in  these  is 
not  only  abundant;  it  is  definite.  To  describe  in  an  inter- 
esting way,  we  must  stir  the  imagination;  we  must  call  up 


40  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

in  our  readers'  minds  definite  sights  and  sounds;  for  only 
thus  can  they  imagine  themselves  in  our  scene.  It  is  thus 
that  we  appeal  in  conversation.  We  say,  not  vaguely, 
"Do  you  remember  what  a  good  morning  we  had  there?'' 
but,  ^'Do  you  remember  how  hard  packed  the  hill  was? 
And  that  turn  at  the  bottom?  And  then  that  black  ice!" 
Such  specific,  concrete  details,  as  they  help  to  recall  a  scene 
familiar  to  both  speaker  and  hearer,  also  help  a  reader  to 
imagine  the  scene  in  the  mind  of  the  writer.  The  more 
specific  the  details,  the  nearer  the  reader's  imagination  will 
come  to  the  writer's.  The  vessel  was  rapidly  approaching 
the  dangerous  shore.  That  statement  is  so  indefinite  that  it 
might  call  up  any  one  of  fifty  images,  or  no  image  at  all. 
What  was  the  vessel?  sloop,  schooner,  battleship,  steamboat? 
Was  it  drifting  or  forging  head  on?  Rapidly  approaching 
applies  as  well  to  a  ferry-boat  entering  a  slip  as  to  a  schooner 
in  distress.  Dangerous  shore  is  more  suggestive;  but  it 
might  as  well  be  reef  or  cliffs. 

The  dismantled  schooner  rolled  helplessly  toward  the  sand  spit. 

Through  a  rift  in  the  fog  the  lookout  on  the  steamboat  suddenly 
descried  the  boiling  reef  dead  ahead. 

The  old  oil  tank,  her  funnels  crusted  with  salt,  was  lifted  by 
every  big  wave  nearer  to  the  jagged  black  rocks. 

It  is  only  definite  details  that  can  call  up  definite  images. 

Realize  in  details  of  motion,  attitude,  sound,  etc.,  the  scenes 
implied  by  four  of  the  following,  so  as  to  express  them  con- 
cretely and  specifically.  Add  a  few  sentences  if  you  wish.  Try 
especially  for  specific  verbs. 

1.  Sheridan  was  rapidly  approaching  Winchester.  2.  He  was 
plowing  a  stony  field.  3.  The  pitcher  delivered  the  ball.  4.  He 
narrowly  escaped  the  automobile.  5.  The  train  came  to  a  stop. 
6.  A  squirrel  ran  up  the  tree.  7.  Fifty  girls  were  working  in  the 
room.    8.  The   crowd    before    the    bulletin   applauded.    9.  She 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  41 

seemed  weary.  10.  An  old  man  sat  in  the  sun.  11.  Patrick  Henry 
then  continued  his  speech.  12.  This  last  effort  carried  the  ball 
over.  13.  The  ferry-boat  entered  the  slip  and  was  made  fast. 
14.  At  sunset  the  flag  was  taken  down.  15.  The  ambulance  sur- 
geon examined  the  man  on  the  sidewalk. 

Observation.  —  So  far,  this  study  of  description  has  shown 
the  interest  that  lies  in  concrete  details,  in  the  abundance 
of  sound,  Hght,  color,  motion,  attitude,  smell.  Has  it  not 
shown  something  else,  —  that  you  cannot  always  use  as 
many  of  such  details  as  you  wish,  because  you  have  not 
noticed  them? 

Does  a  cow  lie  down  in  the  same  way  as  a  horse?  What  is  the 
attitude  of  a  man  holding  a  drill  for  his  fellow-workman  to  strike 
with  a  sledge?  What  would  be  the  right  word  to  describe  the 
gait  of  a  duck  so  as  to  distinguish  it  from  the  gait  of  a  hen?  The 
gait  of  a  sailor  as  distinguished  from  that  of  a  soldier?  What  is 
the  look  and  sound  of  stevedores  unloading  boxes  from  a  steam- 
boat? Barrels?  How  is  a  steel  girder  placed  in  the  frame  of  a 
tall  building?  Distinguish  as  sharply  as  you  can  the  impressions 
of  an  express  train  approaching  and  passing  on  a  level.  (A  group 
of  such  questions,  adapted  to  the  environment  of  the  students, 
should  be  assigned  for  oral  and  written  reports,  blackboard,  and 
discussion  by  comparison.  Direct  attention,  not  to  statistical 
accuracy,  but  to  fulness  and  precision  in  reporting  sensations, 
to  the  sights,  sounds,  smells,  etc.,  that  make  up  familiar  impres- 
sions.) 

Evidently  interest  depends  on  observation.  How,  then, 
shall  observation  be  intensified?  Some  scenes,  of  course, 
must  be  given  up  because  they  are  quite  outside  of  your 
experience.  But  it  is  already  plain  that  within  your 
experience  many  interesting  details  have  been  unnoticed. 
Cultivate  the  habit  of  realizing  more  in  famihar  things. 
Observation  is  a  matter  of  habit;  and  the  habit  will  be 
directly  helped  by  practice  in  writing  description.     In  fact, 


42  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

one  of  the  best  results  of  this  practice  is  that  it  makes  the 
writer  more  and  more  alive  to  the  sensations  of  this  good 
world.     It  increases  sensitiveness. 

Something  of  this,  perhaps,  you  have  gained  from  nature- 
study.  You  have  learned  to  distinguish  more  accurately 
the  colors  and  forms  of  flowers,  the  bark  of  trees,  the  notes 
of  birds.  Apply  the  lesson  to  observation  of  people;  learn 
from  observing  nature  how  to  observe  human  nature. 
What  are  the  attitudes,  gesture,  sound  of  voice,  of  a  stump- 
speaker  before  election?  Notice  the  details  of  the  crowd 
around  him.  What  are  the  characteristic  sounds  and 
motions  of  a  class  let  loose  from  school?  Of  a  baby  playing 
on  the  floor?  Notice  a  crowd  of  newsboys  snatching  their 
bundles  of  papers  from  the  tail  of  the  distributing  wagon. 
Try  to  seize  the  sound  of  their  cries,  the  motion  of  their 
jostUng  and  reaching  and  darting  away,  the  dirty  faces,  the 
white  flash  of  outstretched  papers,  the  red  of  a  colored 
supplement,  etc.  Workmen  eating  lunch  at  noon  by  an 
open  trench  —  what  are  the  characteristic  details  of  such  a 
scene?  Notice  how  clerks  in  a  bank  despatch  their  busi- 
ness behind  the  glass  screen.  Open  your  senses  by  opening 
your  sympathy  with  all  kinds  of  people.  People  are  of  all 
subjects  most  interesting  to  other  people.  In  order  to 
increase  the  interest  of  our  writing  we  must  increase  our 
own  interest  in  our  fellow  men.  For  we  observe  best  where 
we  sympathize;  and  the  great  interest  of  writing,  after  all, 
is  human  interest. 

Write  a  brief  description  (100-150  words)  assigned  from  the 
following  list  as  a  common  class  exercise  for  comparison  of  choice 
of  details,  definiteness  of  words,  and  human  interest.  The  remain- 
der of  the  list  will  suggest  topics  for  later  themes. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  43 

At  Work  At  Play 

The  Wood-choppers.  The  Wrestling. 

In  the  Foundry.  A  Scrimmage. 

Cotton-picking.  The  Hundred  Yards. 

The  Motorman.  The  Swimming  Hole. 

In  a  Woolen  Mill.  Porpoises. 

Stoking.  In  Camp. 

The  Carpenter  Shop.  The  Excursion  Steamer. 

•3.   FIXING  INTEREST   (UNITY) 

But  as  a  writer  becomes  more  sensitive  to  sensations,  as 
he  becomes  readier  to  use  the  interest  of  sound,  motion, 
smell,  color,  and  light,  he  becomes  aware  that  he  cannot 
record  all  these  just  as  they  come  to  him.  They  are  too 
many  and  too  confusing.  As  the  writer  of  an  explanation 
must  compose  his  thoughts  in  order  to  convey  them  to  a 
reader,  so  the  writer  of  a  description  must  compose  his 
sensations.  His  object  is  to  arouse  sympathetic  interest 
by  making  his  reader  imagine  himself  in  the  scene  described. 
To  do  this  he  must  suggest  the  concrete  details  that  made 
the  scene  interesting  to  him.  But  he  cannot  suggest  them 
all.  Life  is  too  full  to  be  recorded  completely.  And  even 
if  he  could  set  all  down,  all  the  sounds  of  a  city  street,  all 
its  lights,  colors,  motions,  attitudes,  odors,  the  record  would 
hardly  be  interesting,  and  it  would  certainly  be  confusing. 
There  is  no  use,  then,  in  trying  to  make  a  complete  record 
of  all  sensations.  It  could  hardly  be  done  in  unlimited 
space;  and  the  space  of  any  description  is  limited.  Descrip- 
tion cannot  hold  interest  very  long  at  a  time.  The  prac- 
tical problem,  then,  is  how  to  gain  the  interest  of  abundant 
concrete  detail  for  a  short  description. 

Characteristic  Moment.  —  The  main  way  is  to  limit  the 
time.  It  is  impossible  to  keep  a  reader's  interest  in  a  short 
description  of  a  whole  day.     To  put  the  whole  day  into  a 


44  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

short  theme  is  to  squeeze  out  the  very  details  on  which 
interest  depends.  It  reduces  the  theme  to  a  dry  catalogue. 
Conversely,  to  put  in  abundant  concrete  detail  for  a  whole 
day  would  so  swell  the  theme  as  to  make  it  tiresome  by  its 
very  length.  In  this  kind  of  writing,  the  only  long  com- 
positions that  hold  interest  are  connected  stories;  and  these 
have  an  art  of  their  own  which  cannot  be  mastered  until  one 
first  knows  how  to  compose  short  descriptions.  Look  back 
over  the  descriptions  quoted  in  this  chapter.  The  first 
covers  but  a  few  minutes,  the  time  between  taking  up  the 
dinner  and  beginning  to  serve  it.  The  second  covers  no 
longer  time.  Everything  in  it  could  have  been  seen  and 
heard  in  a  few  minutes'  steady  observation.  The  third, 
after  a  brief  glance  at  the  stream  and  its  banks,  covers  only 
the  time  taken  for  the  wagon  to  approach  the  bridge,  cross 
it,  and  disappear  around  the  bend.  The  fourth,  which 
covers  the  most  time,  is  after  all  limited  to  the  ascent  of 
one  long  hill.  First,  then,  do  not  try  to  cover  much  time. 
The  object  of  limiting  the  time  covered  by  a  description 
is  similar  to  the  object  of  limiting  the  scope  covered  by  an 
explanation  (page  5);  it  is  to  be  abundant  within  the 
limits.  In  either  case,  that  is  the  only  way  to  be  abundant. 
It  is  the  only  way  to  make  an  explanation  full  enough  to  be 
clear;  it  is  the  only  way  to  make  a  description  full  enough  to 
be  interesting.  But  in  description  the  best  way  to  apply 
this  principle  of  limitation  is  to  select  —  not  any  brief  time, 
but  that  particular  brief  time  which  is  most  characteristic. 
I  wish  to  describe  newsboys.  Part  of  the  day,  perhaps, 
they  spend  at  school.  No  particular  interest  in  describing 
them  when  they  are  just  like  other  boys.  In  vwhat  brief 
time  of  the  day  will  they  show  most  of  those  concrete  details 
of  motion,  attitude,  sound,  etc.,  which  I  have  observed  as 
characteristic  of  newsboys?  Just  when  they  scramble  for 
their  papers  and  rush  off  crying  them.     There  it  is  in  two 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  45 

minutes.     Success   in   description   consists   largely  in   cul- 
tivating a  habit  of  selecting  the  characteristic  moment^ 

Select  from  each  of  the  following  general  topics  which  fall 
within  your  observation  a  characteristic  moment  for  de- 
scription. Select  more  than  one,  if  you  can;  but  do  not  try 
to  describe  more  than  one  in  a  single  theme.  Let  each 
moment  be  a  moment  of  action;  for  this  opens  a  wider 
range  of  concrete  details.  In  writing  out  the  description,  put 
it  into  the  form  of  a  brief  story  whenever  that  seems  easier. 

1.  Firemen.  8.  Morning  Chapel. 

2.  A  Locomotive  Engineer.  9.  Haying. 

3.  Factory  Girls.  10.  The  Railroad  Station. 

4.  In  a  Department  Store.  11.  A  Country  Post  Office. 

5.  Fishing.  12.  A  Clam-bake. 

6.  Laying  Rails.  13.  The  Baggage  Room. 

7.  The  Drawbridge. 

Characteristic  Details.  —  One  full  moment,  one  short, 
unbroken  space  of  time  in  which  those  concrete  details 
which  put  the  scene  before  a  reader  are  naturally  thickest, 
and  especially  a  time  of  characteristic  action,  —  for  a  brief 
description  first  of  all  select  this.  But  even  such  a  moment 
may  yield  more  details  than  can  be  used;  even  in  this  there 
must  still  be  selection.  And  already  there  is  a  guide  to 
this  further  selection  in  that  word  characteristic.  Select  the 
details  which  are  characteristic,  which  will  make  the  scene 
seem  like  itself,  the  persons  seem  like  themselves.  Suppose 
a  phonograph  wound  up  in  a  children's  playroom  to  record 
every  word  uttered  there  for  fifteen  minutes.  The  record 
would  give  no  better  description  of  the  children  than  their 
mother's  letter,  of  a  quarter  the  length,  which  selected  the 
expressions  characteristic  of  those  particular  children  at 
play.  One  significant  word,  look,  gesture,  color,  or  other 
characteristic  detail  is  worth  more  for  description  than  ten 
that  are  insignificant.     In  describing  we  do  not  stand  before 


46  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF   INTEREST 

our  subject,  like  a  photographer,  to  fix  every  detail.  That 
is  impossible.  The  situation  that  impresses  us  as  worth 
description  we  may  have  experienced  twenty  times,  or  even 
a  hundred.  From  all  these  experiences  certain  details  stand 
out  in  memory  as  characteristic.  From  the  throng  of  sights 
and  sounds  certain  particular  sights  and  sounds  are  vividly 
before  us  as  giving  that  situation  its  pecuHar  character. 
These  are  the  ones  to  select;  for  these  will  help  to  put  a 
reader  there  in  imagination.  Selecting  a  brief,  character- 
istic time,  put  into  it  those  details  which  make  it  charac- 
teristic.    Leave  the  rest  out. 

Look  back  at  the  description  of  the  Christmas  dinner  on 
page  34.  Abundant  as  it  is  in  concrete  detail,  it  makes 
no  attempt  to  include  everything.  Perhaps  the  postman 
knocked.  Perhaps  Bob  Cratchit  sneezed.  Perhaps  there  was 
a  spot  on  the  tablecloth.  Were  the  walls  white,  or  dirty? 
Dickens  gives  us  what  is  characteristic  of  the  scene.  The  rest 
he  leaves  out.  He  focuses  our  attention.  He  keeps  us,  not 
merely  on  one  moment  at  a  time,  but  in  one  mood.  Each 
detail  adds  to  the  single  feeling,  the  expectation  of  gooi 
cheer.  A  reader's  imagination  is  most  effectively  stirre(J 
when  every  detail  of  a  description  adds  to  a  single  feeling. 

Select,  then,  what  is  characteristic  of  your  brief  time, 
and  especially  what  is  characteristic  of  its  feeling.  Try  to 
make  your  reader  feel  with  you  by  giving  him  such  details 
as  must  lead  him  to  feel  in  one  way.  The  best  approach  to 
this  is  first  of  all  to  select  a  subject  which  has  made  a  clear 
impression  upon  your  own  feeling.  In  order  to  make  others 
feel,  you  must  feel  yourself.  No  one  is  likely  to  care  much 
about  your  description  of  something  that  you  do  not  care 
about  yourself.  But  having  chosen  something  that  makes  a 
strong  impres^on  upon  your  own  feeling,  you  stand  a  fair 
chance  of  making  it  rouse  the  same  feeling  in  others.  For 
the  feeling  that  you  wish  to  communicate  will  guide  you  in 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF   INTEREST 


47 


choosing  details,  and  the  mention  of  those  details  that  gave  it 
to  you  will  naturally  give  the  same  feehng  to  some  one  else. 
You  choose  to  describe  the  stokers  in  the  engine-room  of 
a  steamer,  because  the  sight  of  them  made  on  you  a  strong 
impression  of  terribly  hard  work.  You  will  naturally 
choose  those  details  which  will  give  a  reader  the  same  im- 
pression—  the  half -stripped  bodies,  the  hot  glare,  the 
sweat,  the  grime,  the  heaving  muscles.  You  will  leave  out 
the  various  nationaUties  of  the  stokers  and  the  make  of  the 
engine,  because  these  details  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
impression.  A  subject  is  good  for  your  description  in  pro- 
portion to  the  definiteness  of  the  feeling  it  gives  you.  In  a 
word,  choose  a  subject  which  gives  you  a  definite  feeling. 
Choose  that  moment  and  those  details  which  are  likely  to 
arouse  that  feeUng  most  strongly. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  ASSIGNMENTS  TO   BE  COMPARED  ON 
THE   BLACKBOARD 


Subject 

Moment 

Impression 

Concrete  Details 

Bank  Clerks 

Just 

Despatch. 

Scan  a   check  —  flip   it  into  a 

at  Work. 

before 

compartment  —  thumbing   a 

closing. 

pile  of  bills  —  clink  of  specie- 
stacker  —  click  and  clash  of 
adding  machine  —  slap  of 
pass-book  on  glass  counter  — 
telephone  bell  —  typewriter, 
etc. 

Haying. 

Before 

Heat. 

Sweat  running  into  eyes  —  dog's 

the 

tongue     hanging     out  —  air 

shower. 

shimmers  in  distance — horses 
panting  —  no  breeze  —  blue 
sky  with  thimder-heads  — ' 
hay  scratching  blistered  neck, 
etc. 

48 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF   INTEREST 


SUGGESTIONS    FOR  ASSIGNMENTS   TO  BE  COMPARED   ON 
THE    BLACKBOARD— Continued 


Subject 

Moment 

Impression 

Concrete  Details 

Haying. 

Unloading 

Hard  work. 

Strain  of  lifting  and  pushing  — 

in  the 

dust  —  eyes    smart  —  back 

mow. 

aches — swish  —  great  billows 
of  hay  breaking  over  from 
below — smothered — no  end 
■ — at  last,  soimd  of  forks  on 
wagon  bottom,  etc. 

In  a 

Christmas 

Exhaustion. 

Shop-girl  —  black    rings    imder 

Department 

Eve,  late. 

eyes — leans  a  moment  against 

Store. 

bales  of  linen  —  answers  me- 
chanically —  three  customers 
at  once  —  takes  down  box 
after  box  —  sharp  question  of 
floor-walker  —  bad  air  — 
pallor  —  complaint  of  a  cus- 
tomer—  others  push  in,  etc. 

Use  in  this  way  the  topics  suggested  in  the  preceding  sections. 

Difference  between  Exposition  and  Description  in  the 
Means  to  Unity  and  Emphasis.  —  One  moment  at  a  time, 
one  impression  at  a  time,  —  what  is  this  but  the  principle 
of  unity?  We  come  back,  then,  to  the  first  guide  in  expla- 
nation (page  4).  But  the  apphcation  is  different.  A 
description,  however  well  unified,  cannot  always  be  summed 
up  in  a  sentence.  A  sentence  expresses  unity  of  thought; 
description  is  concerned  rather  with  unity  of  feeling  or 
impression;  and  this  kind  of  unity  is  not  tested  by  summary 
in  a  sentence.  Sum  up  in  a  sentence  each  of  the  descrip- 
tions quoted  hi  this  chapter.  It  can  be  done;  but  it  does 
not  tell  what  really  holds  the  description  together;  for  in 
each   case   the   singleness   comes,   not  from   a   controlling 


THE    PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  49 

thought,  but  from  a  controlling  emotion.  The  impression 
of  the  first  might  be  put  into  some  such  phrase  as  the  good 
cheer  of  the  poor^  or  hungry  expectancy.  Its  single  feeling  is 
plain  enough;  yet  it  cannot  easily  be  summed  up,  even  in  a 
phrase.  The  second  might  be  labeled  Christmas  jollity  in 
little  things^  or  the  Christmas  feeling  everywhere.  The  feeling 
of  the  last  two  might  be  called  equally  the  joy  of  being  out 
of  doors;  yet  they  are  quite  different.  Now  all  this  teaches 
two  things  very  important  for  description.  First,  the  way 
to  convey  a  feeling  in  words  is  not  to  sum  it  up  or  name  it, 
but,  keeping  it  in  your  own  mind  as  you  write,  to  suggest 
it  by  those  concrete  details  which  gave  it  to  you.  Secondly, 
though  a  short  description  should  have  unity  as  well  as  a 
short  explanation  or  argument,  it  need  not  try  to  have  unity 
by  the  same  means.  Explanation  or  argument,  trying  to 
make  a  reader  think  one  way,  keeps  a  core  of  thought,  and 
a  core  of  thought  can  always  —  should  always,  be  summed 
up  in  a  sentence;  description  or  story,  trying  to  make  a 
reader  feel  one  way,  keeps  a  core  of  feeling,  and  a  core  of 
feeling  cannot  always,  and  need  not  ever,  be  summed  up  at 
all.  Enough  that  it  is  there;  for  the  details  that  it  leads 
you  to  choose  will  pretty  surely  give  your  reader  the  same 
single  feeling.  In  a  word,  do  not  try  to  unify  these  descrip- 
tions as  you  unified  your  previous  themes.  That  might 
only  make  them  formal  or  constrained.  But  simply  by 
your  choice  of  details  try  to  make  your  reader  feel  in  one  way. 
The  principle  of  emphasis,  too,  should  be  appHed  to 
description  less  strictly.  It  lies  behind  that  very  concrete- 
ness  which  is  the  way  of  all  effective  description;  for  the 
way  to  make  an  impression  strongly  is,  not  to  state  facts 
generally,  but  to  suggest  images  specifically  by  details  of 
sensation.  Concrete  detail  makes  an  impression  stand  out 
in  the  imagination;  therefore  concrete  detail  is  emphatic. 
Something  like  the  emphasis  of  iteration  (page  9)  in  ex- 
5 


50  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

planatory  writing  is  also  used  at  times  in  description  when 
a  single  detail  which  is  most  directly  characteristic  of  the 
desired  impression  is  repeated. 

Joy 

You  never  in  all  your  life  saw  anything  like  Trotty  after  this. 
I  don't  care  where  you  have  lived  or  what  you  have  seen;  you 
never  in  your  life  saw  anything  at  all  approaching  him!  He 
sat  down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees  and  cried.  He  sat  down 
in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees  and  laughed.  He  sat  down  in  his 
chair  and  beat  his  knees  and  laughed  and  cried  together.  He  got 
out  of  his  chair  and  hugged  Meg.  He  got  out  of  his  chair  and 
hugged  Richard.  He  got  out  of  his  chair  and  hugged  them  both 
at  once.  He  kept  running  up  to  Meg,  and  squeezing  her  fresh 
face  between  his  hands  and  kissing  it,  going  from  her  backwards 
not  to  lose  sight  of  it,  and  running  up  again  like  a  figure  in  a  magic 
lantern;  and  whatever  he  did,  he  was  constantly  sitting  himself 
down  in  his  chair,  and  never  stopping  in  it  for  a  single  moment, 
being  —  that's  the  truth  —  beside  himself  with  joy. 

—  Dickens,  The  Chimes. 

And  finally  a  short  description  intended  to  be  complete 
in  itself,  as  your  present  themes  are,  may  well  gain  emphasis 
by  a  strong  ending  (page  25).  But  usually  a  strong  end- 
ing is  gained  for  description,  not  by  iteration  of  the  whole 
point,  as  in  explanation,  but  simply  by  putting  last  that 
concrete  detail  which  is  most  characteristic  or  most  strik- 
ing. "Even  Tiny  Tim  .  .  .  beat  on  the  table  with  the 
handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried  Hurrah!'^  Notice  the 
same  method  in  the  following: 

The  Christmas  Dance 

Then  old  Fezziwig  stood  out  to  dance  with  Mrs.  Fezziwig.  Top 
couple,  too,  with^a  good  stiff  piece  of  work  cut  out  for  them;  three 
or  four  and  twenty  pair  of  partners;  people  who  were  not  to  be 
trifled  with;  people  who  would  dance,  and  had  no  notion  of  walking. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  51 

But  if  they  had  been  twice  as  many  —  ah!  four  times  —  old  Fezzi- 
wig  would  have  been  a  match  for  them,  and  so  would  Mrs.  Fezzi- 
wig.  As  to  her,  she  was  worthy  to  be  his  partner  in  every  sense 
of  the  term.  If  that's  not  high  praise,  tell  me  higher,  and  111 
use  it.  A  positive  light  appeared  to  issue  from  Fezziwig's  calves. 
They  shone  in  every  part  of  the  dance  like  moons.  You  couldn't 
have  predicted,  at  any  given  time,  what  would  become  of  them 
next.  And  when  old  Fezziwig  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  had  gone  all 
through  the  dance;  advance  and  retire,  both  hands  to  your  part- 
ner, bow  and  curtsey,  corkscrew,  thread-the-needle,  and  back 
again  to  your  place;  Fezziwig  ^*cut"  —  cut  so  deftly,  that  he  ap- 
peared to  wink  with  his  legs,  and  came  upon  his  feet  again  without 

—  Dickens,  A  Christmas  Carol. 

In  a  word,  the  principle  of  emphasis,  like  the  principle  of 
unity,  though  it  applies  to  description  as  well  as  to  explana- 
tion, applies  in  a  different  way.  It  applies  less  strictly. 
It  is  followed  best,  not  by  remembering  particular  rules, 
but  by  being  full  of  a  particular  feeling. 

4,   HOLDING  INTEREST   (COHERENCE) 

What  of  the  third  principle,  coherence?  A  description, 
no  less  than  an  explanation,  should  be  easy  to  follow;  but 
following  from  one  image  to  another  image  is  not  much 
like  following  from  one  thought  to  another  thought.  The 
kind  of  plan  that  helps  a  reader  to  reason  out  a  principle  is 
hardly  the  sort  to  help  him  follow  a  scene  in  imagination. 
In  writing  an  explanation  we  plan  such  an  order  as  will 
make  each  thought  prepare  for  the  next  and  so  lead  on  to 
the  final  full  understanding  of  the  single  thought  that  under- 
lies all.  But  in  writing  a  description,  as  we  aim  at  some- 
thing different,  at  a  final  full  feeUng  rather  than  a  final  full 
thought,  so  we  plan  differently. 


52  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

A  Shop  of  Petty  Merchandise 

A  little  shop,  quite  crammed  and  choked  with  the  abundance 
of  its  stock;  a  perfectly  voracious  little  shop,  with  a  maw  as  accom- 
modating and  full  as  any  shark's.  Cheese,  butter,  firewood,  soap, 
pickles,  matches,  bacon,  table-beer,  peg-tops,  sweetmeats,  toys, 
kites,  bird-seed,  cold  ham,  birch  brooms,  hearth-stones,  salt, 
vinegar,  blacking,  red-herrings,  stationery,  lard,  mushroom- 
ketchup,  staylaces,  loaves  of  bread,  shuttlecocks,  eggs,  and  slate- 
pencils:  everything  was  fish  that  came  to  the  net  of  this  greedy 
little  shop,  and  all  these  articles  were  in  its  net.  How  many  other 
kinds  of  petty  merchandise  were  there  it  would  be  difficult  to 
say;  but  balls  of  packthread,  ropes  of  onions,  pounds  of  candles, 
cabbage  nets,  and  brushes,  hung  in  bunches  from  the  ceiling,  like 
extraordinary  fruit;  while  various  old  canisters  emitting  aromatic 
smells  established  the  veracity  of  the  inscription  over  the  outer 
door,  which  informed  the  public  that  the  keeper  of  this  little  shop 
was  a  licensed  dealer  in  tea,  coffee,  tobacco,  pepper,  and  snuff. 

—  Dickens,  The  Chimes. 

Here  Dickens,  instead  of  describing  coherently,  humor- 
ously chose  to  write  a  jumbled  catalogue.  Jumble ,  in  fact, 
would  be  a  good  title;  for  that  was  the  impression  he  wished 
to  convey.  But  suppose  he  had  wished  to  be  connected, 
to  make  his  description  move  on  easily.  Would  he  have 
planned  it  by  sorting  these  articles  under  heads,  and  then 
arranging  them  in  some  logical  order  of  thought? 

Prepared  Foodstuffs:  cheese,  butter,  pickles,  cold  ham,  sweet- 
meats, red-herrings,  bread,  etc. 

Raw  Foodstuffs:  bacon,  eggs,  onions,  tea,  coffee,  etc. 

Tobacco  and  Snuff. 

Condiments:  salt,  vinegar,  pepper,  ketchup,  etc. 

Household  Supplies  {exclusive  of  food) :  firewood,  soap,  matches, 
birch  brooms,  hearth-stones,  candles,  etc. 

Toys:  peg-tops,  kites,  shuttlecocks,  etc. 

Order:  (1)  household  supplies  exclusive  of  food,  (2)  raw  food- 
stuffs, (3)  prepared  food-stuffs,  (4)  condiments,  etc. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  53 

Such  an  order  would  help  us  to  understand  that  shop; 
but  it  would  hardly  help  us  to  see  it  and  feel  it  in  imagina- 
tion. It  would  greatly  help  an  explanation;  it  would  help  a 
description  very  little.  No,  coherence  in  description  must 
be  sought  by  different  means. 

Choosing  Subjects  whose  Characteristic  Details  are  Motion 
and  Sound.  —  Now  in  the  first  place,  if  you  will  look  back 
over  your  own  descriptions,  you  will  find  that  those  move 
along  most  easily  which  have  most  details  of  sound,  motion, 
and  action.  The  easiest  way  to  connect  the  parts  of  a 
description,  to  give  it  coherence,  is  to  have  people,  or  ani- 
mals, acting,  —  in  a  word,  to  throw  it  into  the  form  of  a 
story.  Conversely,  the  hardest  descriptions  to  arrange  are 
those  that  deal  with  still  life,  with  a  sunset  over  still  water, 
with  a  market  before  business  has  begun,  with  a  person 
sitting  or  standing  still,  with  a  factory  at  noon  when  no 
one  is  working.  In  fact,  concrete  descriptive  details  might 
be  roughly  classified  thus  in  the  order  of  their  difficulty  for 
description: 

rt'    ^,  , .      [  with  their  sounds. 

2.  other  motion  ) 

3.  sound  without  motion. 

4.  attitude. 

5.  smell. 

6.  touch. 

7.  form  and  outline. 

8.  color. 

What  does  this  mean?  It  means  in  the  first  place  that, 
since  we  are  using  v/ords,  and  words  are  moving  sounds,  we 
can  most  easily  make  them  describe  things  that  character- 
istically move  and  sound.  Painters,  on  the  other  hand, 
since  they  deal  with  line  and  color,  can  most  easily  paint 
things  whose  characteristics  are  line  and  color.  Moving, 
sounding  Ufe  is  easier  for  description;  still  Ufe  is  easier  for 


54  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

painting.  A  painting  represents  its  details  to  us  all  to- 
gether and  all  at  once.  It  cannot  represent  motion;  it  can 
only  suggest  that  to  us  by  attitude.  Sound  it  can  hardly 
even  suggest.  But  description  has  to  suggest  its  details  in 
succession.  It  cannot  stand  still.  Words  sound  and  go 
on.  Therefore,  since  it  is  almost  forced  to  bring  in  some 
sound  and  motion,  description  has  greatest  difficulty  where 
the  characteristic  details  do  not  sound  or  move,  that  is 
with  still  life.  In  the  midst  lie  smell,  which  is  rather  easier 
for  description,  because  it  can  only  be  suggested  anyway; 
and  touch,  which  is  easier  for  painting,  because  painting 
can  represent  surfaces.  Now  all  this  does  not  mean  that 
the  details  proper  to  painting  should  be  omitted  from 
description,  but  that  they  should  not  usually  be  elaborated 
or  relied  on  mainly.  Otherwise  the  description  is  likely  to 
be  lagging  and  confused,  —  in  other  words,  incoherent. 
Description  cannot  compete  with  painting,  any  more  than 
painting  can  compete  with  description,  in  its  own  field. 
The  best  scenes  for  description  are  those  in  which  the  char- 
acteristic details  are  motion  and  sound. 

Practically  this  means  that  coherence  in  description  is 
very  much  helped  or  hindered  by  the  choice  of  subject. 
Since  it  is  not  well  to  try  the  hardest  problems  first,  begin 
with  subjects  that  have  in  real  life  a  plenty  of  sound  and 
motion,  such  subjects  as  a  fire  engine  coming  through  a 
crowded  street,  the  arrival  of  a  train  or  steamboat,  children 
at  play.  Such  subjects  have  the  further  advantage  of 
including  people,  of  appealing  directly  to  human  interest. 
Of  course  they  offer  details  of  the  other  senses  too,  the  flash 
of  sun  on  the  brass  of  the  fire  engine,  the  smell  of  soft-coal 
smoke  from  the  locomotive,  the  red  sweater  of  a  boy  playing 
prisoner's  base,  Vnd  these  should  by  no  means  be  omitted; 
but  the  natural  succession  of  sounds  and  movements  will 
almost  of  itself  help  the  description  to  move  along,  and 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  55 

coherence  in  description  practically  means  moving  along 
easily. 

Choosing  Moments  of  Action.  —  Then  let  the  moments 
chosen  (page  43)  for  your  first  descriptions  be  moments  of 
action.  For  the  subjects  just  mentioned  this  is  a  matter 
of  course.  It  could  hardly  be  avoided.  For  other  subjects 
it  requires  a  little  management.  Haying,  for  instance,  is  a 
subject  that  offers  abundance  of  motion  and  sound,  but 
more  at  some  times  than  at  others.  Take  the  fullest 
moment.  Begin,  for  instance,  just  as  the  horses  are  strain- 
ing up  the  incline  into  the  barn,  and  describe  the  unloading. 
Then  the  description  can  move  along  through  rapid,  con- 
tinuous action,  and  end  with  the  rattle  of  the  forks  on  the 
bottom  of  the  wagon.  This  suggests  another  help  toward 
descriptive  coherence.  Try  to  begin  with  some  action  and 
without  much  explanation.  If  the  moment  is  well  chosen, 
the  description  will  explain  itself  as  it  goes  along.  Instead 
of  beginning  outside  the  scene  with  an  explanatory  intro- 
duction, begin  in  the  scene.  You  wish  your  reader  to 
imagine  himself  in  the  scene;  imagine  yourself  in  the  scene 
already.  Don't  stop  to  explain  how  you  came  to  be  there. 
Such  preliminary  explanation  is  usually  both  uninteresting 
and  unnecessary. 

As  I  was  returning  from  the  library  the  other  evening j  I  had  to 
force  my  way  through  the  usual  crowd  at  the  corner  of  Washington 
Street  and  Union.  Suddenly  the  fire-bell  rang.  The  policeman 
held  up  his  club  and  shouted.  A  pair  of  truck-horses  on  Wash- 
ington Street  reared  back  on  their  haunches.  A  trolley  car  on 
Union  stopped  with  a  jerk  just  short  of  the  crossing.  The  crowd, 
as  I  looked  up  the  street,  seemed  to  be  ploughed  in  two;  and  I 
was  pushed  back  to  the  sidewalk.  Clang!  clang!  Down  the 
open  lane  thundered  Number  3  .  .  .  etc. 

Beginning  to  Describe  at  Once. — See  if  anything  would  be 
lost  in  clearness  by  omitting  the  opening  sentence  printed  in 


56  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

italics.  If  the  theme  began  "Suddenly  the  fire-bell  rang," 
it  would  catch  interest  better.  It  would  move  better  by 
moving  from  the  start.  Such  a  sudden  beginning  is  appro- 
priate to  the  desired  impression  of  suddenness;  and,  though 
it  is  not  always  appropriate,  nor  always  possible,  the  prin- 
ciple of  beginning  as  quickly  as  possible  is  generally  a  help 
to  easy  movement. 

One  of  the  most  characteristic  sights  of  country  life  is  the  bringing 
in  of  the  hay  from  the  field  to  the  barn.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to 
witness  this  last  summer  at  a  prosperous  farm  in  Schoharie  County. 
The  great  load,  with  the  driver  almost  hidden  in  front  and  two 
other  workmen  lying  on  top,  came  into  the  barnyard  scraping 
off  wisps  of  hay  against  the  tall  lilacs  at  the  gate.  The  men  on 
top  slid  off  and  pulled  out  their  forks.  ^^ Get  up,"  yelled  the  driver; 
and  the  big  bays  dug  their  hoofs  into  the  rough  planks  of  the 
incline,  strained  the  front  wheels  over  the  sill,  and  pounded  into 
the  barn,  where  the  load  filled  the  whole  passage-way  from  mow 
to  mow.  ** Lively,  now!"  said  the  driver,  '*or  it  11  rain  before  we 
get  in  that  last  load  "...  etc. 

The  object  of  this  description  being  to  make  us  imagine 
the  arrival  and  unloading  of  the  hay,  there  is  no  gain  in 
introducing  it  by  the  sentences  italicized.  Indeed,  there 
is  a  loss;  for  the  interest  does  not  begin  till  "The  great 
load,"  that  is,  until  there  is  something  to  see.  Since  the 
description  itself  must  make  the  scene  characteristic,  there 
is  no  need  of  first  telling  the  reader  that  it  is  characteristic. 
And  how  the  writer  came  to  see  the  subject  is  of  no  interest 
in  itself  and  no  help  to  the  imagination.  So  far  as  possible, 
begin  to  describe  at  once;  and  especially  arrange  so  as  to 
omit  explanatory  introductions. 

Connecting  the  Details  by  the  Action  of  One  upon  Another. 
—  Choose  first  ^subjects  full  of  motion  and  sound.  Take 
them  at  those  moments  that  are  characteristically  fullest 
of  motion  and  sound,  and  begin  to  describe  at  once.     Both 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  57 

these  counsels  will  help  to  make  the  description  move  along, 
will  help,  that  is,  its  coherence.  And  the  value  of  motion 
and  sound  may  be  realized  further  all  through  the  descrip- 
tion. Compare  the  two  following.  Both  use  the  same 
details.     They  differ  only  in  arrangement,  or  coherence. 

Waiting  for  the  Train  (1) 

The  long,  broad  platform  is  full  of  people.  On  the  steps  three 
newsboys  at  once  shout  ''Press,"  ''Tribune,"  "Examiner."  Here 
is  a  woman  with  a  baby  on  one  arm  and  a  folding  go-cart  on  the 
other.  There  is  a  group  of  chattering  school-girls.  To  the  right, 
at  the  end,  a  company  of  immigrants  is  waiting  nervously.  They 
wear  red  tags  and  have  their  clothing  in  bundles.  They  jabber 
together,  and  every  few  minutes  one  of  them  hurries  forward, 
apparently  to  inquire  if  the  train  is  not  coming.  In  contrast  is 
the  portly  banker  who  paces  calmly  up  and  down,  reading  his 
paper.  He  takes  the  train  every  morning.  A  baggage  truck 
with  a  towering  pile  of  trunks  moves  slowly  through  the  crowd. 
"One  side,  please,"  the  men  keep  calling,  as  they  pull  and  push  it 
into  place.  Down  to  the  left  the  semaphore  clacks  over  to  show 
a  clear  track.  Workmen,  who  have  just  driven  the  last  spike  of 
a  new  rail,  move  back  to  the  platform.  The  station  master  with 
his  megaphone  bawls  out,  "Express  for  Chicago,  making  no  stops." 
At  once  the  immigrants  move  around  with  their  bundles,  and  every 
one  presses  forward. 

Waiting  for  the  Train  (2)  ' 

I  was  pushed  through  the  swinging  doors  into  a  woman  with  a 
baby  on  one  arm  and  a  folding  go-cart  on  the  other.  As  I  helped 
her  to  keep  her  feet,  three  school-girls  smiled,  but  calmly  con- 
tinued to  block  the  steps.  Once  free  of  them,  I  set  my  heavy  bag 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  platform.  "One  side,  please."  I  picked 
it  up  out  of  the  way  of  a  towering  truck-load  of  trimks.  The  crowd 
parted  slowly  before  it.  The  man  pushing  behind  struggled, 
stopped,  and  swore.  The  puller  in  front  was  blocked  by  a  swarthy 
Italian  immigrant  wearing  a  red  tag  and  brandishing  a  green 
ticket.    "Chicago?    Chicago?"  he  cried  shrilly,  looking  at  the 


58  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

baggage-master's  official  cap.  '*Here,  you/'  said  the  station 
agent,  pulling  him  aside,  ^'sit  down  till  I  tell  you."  The  Italian 
faltered  back  to  a  crowd  of  his  fellows,  all  wearing  red  tags  and 
sitting  on  bundles.  The  portly,  placid  banker  pacing  by  my 
side  calmly  chose  a  paper  from  the  three  that  were  thrust  in  his 
face.  Instantly  the  two  other  newsboys  dodged  off,  wriggling 
among  the  crowd  and  shouting  ^' Press,"  *' Tribune,"  ^* Examiner." 
The  semaphore  clacked  down.  After  one  last  stroke  on  the  spike, 
the  workman  in  blue  overalls  swung  his  hammer  over  his  shoulder 
and  motioned  his  two  comrades  back.  ''Express  for  Chicago, 
making  no  stops,"  bawled  the  station  master  through  his  red 
megaphone.    At  once  we  began  to  trip  over  those  Italian  bundles. 

The  second  description  makes  more  of  a  story,  but  only 
for  the  purpose  of  connecting  the  details.  The  first  descrip- 
tion, putting  the  details  down  side  by  side  in  the  present 
tense,  makes  a  kind  of  catalogue.  This  is  the  simplest  and 
easiest  method  for  writing;  but  for  reading,  it  is  often  dull 
and  sometimes  confusing.  Such  a  list  is  harder  to  follow  in 
the  imagination.  When  the  writer  simply  says,  first,  there 
are  newsboys,  then  there  is  a  woman  with  a  baby,  then 
there  are  schoolgirls,  over  there  is  a  group  of  immigrants, 
here  is  a  banker,  then  comes  a  baggage-truck,  etc.,  it  is  hard 
to  connect  these  details  as  we  read.  The  description  tends 
to  fall  apart  in  our  minds,  instead  of  hanging  together.  But 
if,  using  the  same  details,  the  writer  connects  them  by  some 
natural  action  of  one  upon  another,  they  hang  together  so 
much  better  in  a  reader^s  mind  that  the  whole  is  easier  to 
follow.  It  makes  Httle  difference  whether  you  run  into  the 
go-cart  or  into  the  newsboys,  whether  the  immigrants  rush 
up  to  the  baggage-master  or  to  the  station-agent.  Either 
is  natural  enough  to  such  a  scene.  The  point  is  to  make 
the  people  of  y^ur  description  act  upon  one  another  instead 
of  simply  standing  one  after  another  in  a  fist.  In  a  word, 
connect  your  description  by  some  simple,  natural  story. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  59 

This  story  method  of  making  description  coherent  is 
easiest  and  most  natural  for  scenes  of  bustle,  such  as  the 
foregoing;  but  it  will  also  serve  for  many  that  are  more 
quiet.  If  you  avoid  at  first  subjects  which  naturally  have 
no  motion  or  sound  at  all,  you  can  soon  learn  so  to  arrange 
the  action  of  your  scenes,  however  sUght  it  may  be,  as  to 
connect  your  details. 

The  End  of  the  Wharf 

Little  puffs  of  white  cloud  soared  aloft  in  the  blue  from  behind 
the  far  hills.  The  red  flag  on  the  point  straight  across  the  bay 
made  its  double  in  the  calm  water  there.  But  a  hundred  yards 
nearer  the  water  crinkled;  nearer  it  ruffled,  until  the  white  caps 
in  the  middle  distance  broke  and  bounded  toward  me.  They 
slapped  against  the  piles  underneath,  and  made  the  old  scow  moored 
at  my  feet  heave  and  groan  on  her  hawsers,  etc. 

Here,  although  there  is  no  bustle,  not  even  any  action  in 
the  Uvelier  sense  of  the  word,  the  motion  of  the  clouds  and 
waves  and  scow  is  made  to  connect  the  details  easily.  Very 
different  would  have  been  the  effect  of  simply  putting  down 
those  details  in  a  Ust: 

The  blue  sky  is  dotted  with  little  puffs  of  white  cloud.  Straight 
across  the  bay  stands  a  red  flag  on  the  point.  It  is  reflected  on 
the  calm  surface ;  but  the  nearer  water  is  covered  with  white  caps. 
.They  slap  against  the  piles  of  the  wharf.  An  old  scow  moored 
at  the  end  is  heaving  and  groaning,  etc. 

The  former  is  easier  to  follow  because  the  action  of  the 
wind   moves   all  through.     The   clouds   soared;  the  water 

crinkled,  ruffled,  broke,  hounded,  slapped,  made heave  and 

groan.  In  applying  this  method  look  to  the  verbs.  Put 
them  into  the  past  tense,  and  see  that  they  too,  as  well  as 
the  nouns  and  adjectives,  describe  specifically  (page  39). 
The  verbs  of  the  latter  form  are  more  vague:  is  dotted,  stands, 
is  reflected,  is  covered.     Avoid  especially  such  flat  and  weak 


60  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

predicates  as  are  seen,  is  heard,  comes,  goes,  presents  an 
appearance.  Wherever  you  can  without  straining,  use  a 
verb  of  action.  If  the  predicates  suggest  motion,  the  whole 
description  will  move  along  more  easily.  In  any  case,  see 
that  the  verbs  are  specific.  But  all  this  is  only  the  carrying 
out  of  that  useful  method  of  coherence,  the  connection  of 
the  details  by  action  of  one  upon  another. 

A  Night  in  the  High  Sierras 

I  made  my  bed  in  a  nook  of  the  pine  thicket,  where  the  branche& 
were  pressed  and  crinkled  overhead  like  a  roof,  and  bent  down 
around  the  sides.  These  are  the  best  bedchambers  the  high 
moimtains  afford,  snug  as  squirrel  nests,  well  ventilated,  full  of 
spicy  odors,  and  with  plenty  of  wind-played  needles  to  sing  one 
asleep.  I  little  expected  company;  but,  creeping  in  through  a 
low  side-door,  I  found  five  or  six  birds  nestling  among  the  tassels. 
The  night  wind  began  to  blow  soon  after  dark,  at  first  only  a  gentle 
breathing,  but  increasing  toward  midnight  to  a  rough  gale  that 
fell  upon  my  leafy  roof  in  ragged  surges  like  a  cascade,  bearing 
wild  sounds  from  the  crags  overhead.  The  waterfall  sang  in  chorus, 
filling  the  old  ice-fountain  with  its  solemn  roar,  and  seeming  to 
increase  in  power  as  the  night  advanced,  fit  voice  for  such  a  land- 
scape. I  had  to  creep  out  many  times  to  the  fire  during  the  night; 
for  it  was  biting  cold,  and  I  had  no  blankets.  Gladly  I  welcomed 
the  morning  star. 

—  John  Muir,  The  Mountains  of  California,  Chapter  iv. 

Keeping  One  Point  of  View.  —  Finally,  a  description  is 
easier  to  follow  if  it  keeps  one  point  of  view;  it  may  become 
confused  if  the  point  of  view  is  changed  without  warning. 
To  keep  one  point  of  view  is  naturally  easy  in  a  short 
description,  especially  a  description  full  of  action.  Simply 
imagine  yourself  in  the  scene.  Either  you  may  say  "I 
did"  so-and-so,  or  you  may  use  the  third  person,  "The 
pop-corn  vender  twisted  the  corners  of  another  little  paper 
bag."     In  either  case  keep  all  through  the  description  the 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  61 

point  of  view  of  an  actor  or  of  a  spectator.  If,  in  describing 
a  football  scrimmage  from  the  point  of  view  of  one  of  the 
players  on  the  field,  you  suddenly  give  the  way  the  scene 
looked  from  the  stands,  the  description  will  be  confused. 
But  no  one  is  Hkely  to  make  this  mistake  so  long  as  he 
keeps  imagining  himself,  as  he  must  do  to  describe  well  at 
all,  on  the  spot.  The  point  of  view  requires  the  more  con- 
sideration the  nearer  the  scene  approaches  to  still  Hfe.  In 
the  former  theme  above.  The  End  of  the  Wharf,  notice  that 
the  point  of  view  is  of  one  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  wharf 
and  looking  out  across  the  bay  to  the  promontory  and  the 
hills  beyond,  and  that  the  details  begin  farthest  away  and 
come  straight  towards  the  spectator.  The  latter,  inferior 
form  of  the  theme  has  no  such  clear  line  for  the  eye  to  follow. 
In  proportion,  then,  as  you  use  the  more  difficult  details  of 
form  and  color,  arrange  them  so  that  the  reader's  eye  in 
imagination  can  follow  clearly  from  one  point  of  view. 

Coherence  in  short  descriptions,  then,  may  be  summed  up 
as  follows:  Choose  first  those  subjects  whose  characteristic 
details  are  motion  and  sound.  Take  them  at  those  moments 
which  are  characteristically  fullest  of  motion  and  sound. 
Begin  to  describe  with  your  first  words.  Connect  the  details 
by  action  of  one  upon  another  as  in  a  story,  and  make  the 
predicates  strong.  As  you  use  more  of  the  details  of  still  hfe, 
be  careful  to  make  the  eye  follow  from  one  point  of  view. 

Describe  one  of  the  following,  or  another  subject  in  this  chapter. 

Missing  a  Train.  The  Return  of  the  Fishing  Fleet. 

The  County  Fair.  The  Old  Whaler. 

The  Inundation.  The  First  Steamboat  on  the  Hudson. 

5.   REACTION  OF  INTEREST  ON  CLEARNESS 

Though  interest  is  thus  sought  differently  from  clearness, 
nevertheless  each  helps  the  other.     The  means  of  each  go 


62  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

back  to  the  same  general  principles  of  unity,  emphasis,  and 
coherence,  because  each  is  imperfect  without  the  other. 
Nothing  can  hold  interest  long  without  clearness;  and,  though 
it  is  possible,  it  is  not  easy  to  be  clear  without  being  inter- 
esting. It  is  hard  to  understand  thoroughly  unless  you  are 
interested.  Therefore  the  most  successful  explanations  and 
arguments  use  not  only  instances  and  illustrations  to  stir 
our  reasoning,  but  also  other  concrete  details  to  stir  our 
imagination.  Thus  they  are  the  clearer  by  being  the  more 
interesting.  For  we  understand  a  writer  best  when  we 
sympathize.  The  following  is  the  better  explanation  from 
being  also  a  good  description. 

A  Near  View  of  the  High  Sierra  Shows  Nature  in  Continual  Change. 

Could  we  have  been  here  to  observe  during  the  glacial  period, 
we  should  have  looked  over  a  wrinkled  ocean  of  ice  as  continuous 
as  that  now  covering  the  landscapes  of  Greenland,  filling  every 
valley  and  canon,  with  only  the  tops  of  the  fountain  peaks  rising 
darkly  above  the  rock-encumbered  ice-waves  like  islets  in  a  stormy 
sea  —  those  islets  the  only  hints  of  the  glorious  landscapes  now 
smiling  in  the  sun.  As  we  stand  here  in  the  deep,  brooding  silence, 
all  the  wilderness  seems  motionless,  as  if  the  work  of  creation  were 
done.  But  in  the  midst  of  this  outer  steadfastness  we  know  there 
is  incessant  motion  and  change.  Ever  and  anon,  avalanches 
are  falling  from  yonder  peaks.  These  cliff-bound  glaciers,  seem- 
ingly wedged  and  immovable,  are  flowing  like  water  and  grinding 
the  rocks  beneath  them.  The  lakes  are  lapping  their  granite  shores 
and  wearing  them  away;  and  every  one  of  these  rills  and  yoimg 
rivers  is  fretting  the  air  into  music,  and  carrying  the  mountains 
to  the  plains.  Here  are  the  roots  of  all  the  life  of  the  valleys ;  and 
here,  more  simply  than  elsewhere,  is  the  eternal  flux  of  nature 
manifested,  ice  (^hanging  to  water,  lakes  to  meadows,  and  moun- 
tains to  plains.  And  while  we  thus  contemplate  nature's  methods 
of  landscape  creation  and,  reading  the  records  she  has  carved 
on  the  rocks,  reconstruct,  however  imperfectly,  the  landscapes 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  63 

of  the  past,  we  also  learn  that  as  these  we  now  behold  have  suc- 
ceeded those  of  the  pre-glacial  age,  so  they  in  turn  are  withering 
and  vanishing,  to  be  succeeded  by  others  yet  unbom. 

—  John  Muir,  The  Mountains  of  California,  Chapter  iv. 

Compare  the  use  of  the  concrete  in  the  paragraph  from  Macau- 
lay's  history  quoted  at  page  17,  and  also  in  the  following: 

Even  an  author  whose  reputation  was  established,  and  whose 
works  were  popular,  such  an  author  as  Thomson,  .  .  .  such  an 
author  as  Fielding,  .  .  .  was  sometimes  glad  to  obtain,  by  pawning 
his  best  coat,  the  means  of  dining  on  tripe  at  a  cookshop  under- 
ground, where  he  could  wipe  his  hands,  after  his  greasy  meal,  on 
the  back  of  a  Newfoundland  dog. 

— Macaulay,  Samuel  Johnson. 

6.    THE     DISTINCTION     BETWEEN     DESCRIPTION 
AND    NARRATION 

Just  as  exposition  is  closely  related  to  argument,  so 
description  to  narration.  Indeed,  it  is  even  less  easy  to 
keep  the  latter  pair  apart.  Pure  exposition,  unmixed  with 
argument,  is  quite  possible  and  very  often  profitable;  but 
pure  description,  unmixed  with  narration,  is  neither  very 
common  nor  very  easy.  For  description  is  usually  subsid- 
iary. Exposition  may  be  an  end  in  itself;  but  description 
is  commonly  used  to  help  something  else.  Sometimes  it 
is  brought  in  to  enUven  an  essay  or  speech,  oftener  to  en- 
liven a  story.  Thus,  instead  of  standing  by  itself  as  a  whole, 
it  is  usually  a  part;  instead  of  being  carried  out  at  length, 
it  is  usually  brief  and  fragmentary;  instead  of  making  the 
whole  fabric  of  a  composition,  it  is  woven  into  the  fabric  of 
essay  or  speech  or,  most  commonly,  of  story.  Some  of  the 
best  descriptions  in  English  contain  only  a  few  sentences, 
and  are  parts  of  verse  or  prose  narratives.  Now  this  is  the 
only  important  distinction  between  description  and  narra- 
tion.    Narration  has  a  distinct  plan  of  its  own;  description 


64  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST 

either  is  adapted  to  the  plan  of  some  exposition,  argument, 
or  narrative,  or  else  borrows  the  plan  of  narrative  and  is 
written  like  a  story.  If  it  is  brief  and  incidental,  it  is  simply- 
fitted  into  the  plan  of  the  whole;  if  it  is  long  enough  and 
distinct  enough  to  demand  a  plan,  it  follows  the  plan  of 
narration.  Instances  of  the  former  are  the  description  of 
the  New  England  whalers  in  Burke's  argument  for  concilia- 
tion, and  the  description  of  the  desolate  shore  to  which  Sir 
Bedivere  went  with  the  sword  of  Arthur.  Instances  of  the 
latter  may  be  found  in  almost  any  book  of  travel  or  any 
newspaper.  The  very  fact  that  these  are  often  called  stories 
shows  that  description  and  narration  can  hardly  be  sepa- 
rated. When  we  tell  a  story,  we  naturally  bring  in  descrip- 
tion; and  when  we  describe  at  any  length,  even  though  we 
have  no  series  of  events  to  lead  to  a  climax,  we  still  naturally 
use  the  narrative  order.  Narrative  is  description  —  and 
more.  What  more  it  is  will  be  discussed  at  length  in  Chap- 
ter viii.  Meantime,  in  themes  of  the  length  presupposed  by 
the  present  chapter,  no  further  distinction  need  be  made 
between  the  two. 

Show  that  argument  is  exposition  —  and  more. 

How  many  of  the  descriptions  quoted  in  this  chapter  are  parts 
of  stories?  Which  have  most  clearly  a  narrative  order  of  events, 
as  in  a  story?  Select  an  instance  also  from  your  own  themes.  In 
this  way  prepare  a  topical  recitation  on  the  relation  of  description 
to  narration. 

Find  two  instances  of  description  forming  part  of  exposition 
or  argument.  Do  these  descriptions  differ  in  form  from  those 
which  are  parts  of  narration?  Prepare  in  this  way  a  topical  reci- 
tation on  the  relation  of  description  to  exposition  and  argument. 

Select  for  reading  aloud  a  striking  brief  description  in  one  of 
the  following:  J^he  Lady  of  the  Lake^  Silas  Marner,  The  Vicar  of 
Wakefieldf  Ivanhoe,  The  Idylls  of  the  Kingj  The  Sketch  Bookj  The 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  In  which  of  these 
is  the  description  most  closely  woven  into  the  narrative,  so  that  it 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  INTEREST  65 

must  be  quoted  piecemeal,  and  in  which  is  it  more  readily  separ- 
able in  longer  passages  for  quotation? 

Why  is  there  more  description  in  Shakespeare's  plays  than  in 
more  modem  plays? 

SUMMARY  OF  THE  CHAPTER 

1.  The  principles  of  unity,  emphasis,  and  coherence  in  their 
application  to  interest  are  best  studied  through  description  or  story. 

2.  Interesting  description  or  story  appeals  to  the  imagination 
by  abundance  of  concrete  detail  {emphasis), 

3.  Interesting  description  or  story  chooses  the  characteristic 
details  of  one  characteristic  moment  at  a  time  {unity). 

4.  Interesting  description  or  story  leads  the  imagination  on 
{coherence) : 

(a)  by  choosing  first  such  subjects  as  have  for  their  most  char- 
acteristic details  motion  and  sound, 

(6)  by  choosing  first  moments  of  action, 

(c)  by  beginping  to  describe  at  once,  without  introduction, 

(cQ  by  connecting  the  details  through  the  action  of  one  upon 
another, 

(e)  by  keeping  one  point  of  view. 

5.  Interest  reacts  on  clearness. 

6.  The  interest  of  narration  is  the  interest  of  description  j>lua 
the  interest  of  a  significant  series  of  events. 


CHAPTER  III 

CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:  PARAGRAPHS 

The  themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  and  the  following  should 
he  longer  expositions  (600  or  more  words)  y  admitting  argument 
freely,  hut  distinguishing  it,  {See  page  30.)  They  should  he 
written  so  much  less  frequently  as  to  insure  (1)  care  in  the  prelim- 
inary outline,  which  should  usually  he  submitted  in  advance  for 
criticism  and  revision  and  sometimes  for  class  discussion,  (2) 
fulness  and  emphasis  for  each  paragranh,  (3)  in  connection  with 
Chapter  iv.,  revision  of  sentences  and  words.  In  general,  they 
should  he  first  spoken  from  an  outline  of  paragraphs,  then  written. 
Where  it  is  impossible  in  the  recitation  periods  to  call  up  any 
large  proportion  of  the  class  regularly  for  oral  development  of  a 
whole  theme,  single  paragraphs  may  he  called  for,  especially  when 
a  common  outline  has  been  assigned.  But  students  should  prac- 
tice in  private  the  oral  development  of  the  whole  from  beginning 
to  end  within  a  specified  time  before  writing  it;  and  at  least  one 
whole  theme  should  he  called  for  at  each  recitation  period.  Profit- 
able topics  are  (1)  matters  of  current  interest  to  the  class,  (2)  topics 
of  current  study  in  science  and  history,  (3)  topics  of  current  study 
in  literature  {definite  assignments,  not  general  fields  of  study). 
Avoid  topics  for  which  the  division  is  likely  to  he  mechanical. 
A  chronological  summary  of  a  man^s  life,  for  instance,  proceeds 
merely  from  year  to  year,  or  period  to  period.  So  an  account  of 
a  process  of  manufacture  proceeds  merely  from  room  to  room. 
Neither  gives  any  scope  for  learning  how  to  develop  a  thought 
from  stage  to  stage.  In  order  to  acquire  this  progressiveness,  use 
freely  the  outlines  at  pages  79-83,  and  others  that  may  be  conven- 
iently provi(^d.  This  practice  may  be  kept  up  for  a  long  period. 
While  it  does  no  harm  to  originality,  it  directly  helps  coherence  in 
extended  composition.    To  the  same  end,  the  practice  should  in* 

66 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN :    PARAGRAPHS  67 

dude,  besides  themes,  frequent  paragraph  summaries  of  noteworthy 
addresses,  magazine  articles,  and  chapters  of  hooks.  The  models 
chosen  should  be  expository.  They  may  have  incidental  argu- 
ment or  incidental  description;  but  they  should  never,  except  in 
occasional  illustration,  be  narrative.  All  the  training  at  this 
period  should  center  upon  the  paragraph  as  a  stage  of  thought. 
The  class  should  discuss  amply  the  paragraph  plans  proposed  for 
themes,  the  oral  development  of  these,  the  use  of  paragraph  emphasis 
to  make  transition  easier,  —  in  short,  the  actual  composition  of  the 
actual  themes.  Orally  and  in  written  revision  of  parts,  this  may 
well  occupy  much  of  the  recitation  time.  The  rest,  once  the  few 
simple  principles  are  understood,  may  be  given  to  su^h  analysis 
of  essays  and  speeches  as  is  indicated  above  and  exhibited  in  the 
text.  For  analysis  of  current  exposition  in  periodicals  the  in" 
structor  should  make  assignments  after  careful  selection  of  such 
articles  as  have  progressive  development  by  clear  paragraphs. 


1.  PARAGRAPHS  THE  PRINCIPAL  MEANS  OF 
COHERENCE  IN  LONGER  EXPOSITIONS  AND 
ARGUMENTS 

The  two  constant  aims,  clearness  and  interest,  and  the 
three  constant  principles,  unity,  emphasis,  and  coherence, 
once  grasped  in  short  compositions,  there  remains  no  new 
doctrine  to  be  learned,  nothing  that  does  not  follow  from 
these.  They  contain  all  rhetoric  in  a  nutshell.  But  there 
remain  many  problems  to  be  solved  practically,  problems 
that  arise  so  soon  as  one  attempts  to  speak  or  write  at 
greater  length. 

The  practice  of  Umiting  the  theme  in  advance  (page 
4),  to  secure  unity,  is  equally  valuable  for  longer  com- 
positions. To  be  clear,  a  longer  composition,  as  well  as  a 
short  one,  needs  to  be  unified.  The  main  difference  between 
the  two  is  in  the  extent  to  which  the  root  idea  is  carried 
out.     A  theme  becomes  longer  by  having  more  amplifica- 


68  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN :  PARAGRAPHS 

tion  —  more  instances,  more  iteration  and  illustration;  i.e., 
by  being  fuller.  It  never  leaves  its  point.  If  it  becomes 
longer  by  losing  its  single  purpose,  by  deviating  into  side- 
paths,  or  bringing  in  foreign  matter,  it  becomes  merely 
confused;  it  might  much  better  be  short.  But  the  prin- 
ciple of  unity  may  be  apphed  to  a  longer  theme  somewhat 
less  strictly.  The  very  object  of  making  the  theme  longer 
may  be  to  bring  together  several  aspects.  If  these  aspects 
are  so  closely  related  that  they  can  easily  be  held  together 
in  mind,  the  theme  has  sufficient  unity.  Suppose  a  theme 
on  the  city  Board  of  Health  to  consider  (1)  the  prevention 
of  contagious  diseases  (vaccination,  etc.),  (2)  their  isolation 
when  they  break  out  (removal  to  isolation  hospital,  or 
placarding  of  dweUings,  etc.),  (3)  the  inspection  of  milk 
and  water,  (4)  the  inspection  of  sanitary  conditions  (plumb- 
ing, disposal  of  refuse,  etc.).  Though  any  one  of  these  four 
would  be  enough  for  a  short  theme,  they  are  so  closely 
related  to  one  another  that  a  longer  theme,  if  well  arranged, 
could  include  them  all  as  different  aspects  of  one  idea. 

So  a  longer  exposition,  even  though  unified,  cannot 
always  be  summed  up  in  a  single  sentence.  That  test  ap- 
plies rather  to  each  of  its  paragraphs  (page  75)  than  to 
the  whole.  Many  themes  of  considerable  length  do,  indeed, 
hold  throughout  to  a  single  sentence.  The  more  a  theme 
aims  at  persuasion,  the  more  valuable  is  a  single  controlling 
idea  so  limited  that  a  single  sentence  will  hold  it;  for  the 
prime  requisite  of  persuasion  is  to  be  possessed  by  a  single, 
very  definite  idea.  But  when  the  object  is  mainly  explana- 
tion, the  root  sentence,  though  often  an  advantage,  is  not 
always  a  necessity.  A  sufficient  safeguard  of  unity  is  simply 
to  limit  the  topic  beforehand  to  such  aspects  as  can  be 
fully  discussed  >n  the  time  and  easily  remembered  together 
at  the  end  (compare  pages  30-31). 

The  principle  of  emphasis  applies  to  longer  compositions 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:   PARAGRAPHS  69 

exactly  as  to  short  ones.  Dwelling  most  on  what  brings 
out  the  main  point  most  directly,  ending  with  an  iteration 
of  the  main  point  (pages  20-25), —  both  these  means  of 
clearness  apply  without  change.  The  new  problems  of  com- 
posing at  greater  length  come  mainly  under  the  head  of 
coherence.  They  are  problems  of  plan.  The  greater  the 
length,  the  more  important  the  order.  When  you  wish  to 
say  more  than  can  be  put  clearly  into  brief  space,  at  once 
you  face  the  problem  how  to  keep  the  whole  together  while 
you  present  it  part  by  part.  The  solution  is  the  paragraph. 
The  most  important  mastery  in  extended  writing  of  this 
kind  is  the  mastery  of  composing  by  paragraphs. 

2.  THE  PARAGRAPH   AS  A  PART 

What  is  a  paragraph?  Every  one  knows  what  a  para- 
graph looks  like.  It  is  a  block  of  print  or  writing  set  off 
by  a  space  at  its  beginning.  Whenever  an  essay  extends 
to  any  considerable  length,  we  expect  to  see  it  divided  in 
this  way  by  certain  indentations.  Similarly  a  speech  of 
any  considerable  length  is  divided  by  pauses.  These  pauses 
do  for  the  ear  what  the  indented  spaces  do  for  the  eye;  they 
relax  the  strain  of  continuous  attention  by  dividing  the 
whole  into  parts. 

But  how?  Evidently  no  one  can  mark  off  his  paragraphs 
until  he  has  them.  No  one  can  make  paragraphs  by  merely 
dividing  a  whole  already  written  into  a  certain  number  of 
pieces.  Paragraphs  made  in  that  way  would  be  merely 
accidental  and  mechanical.  Instead  of  being  a  help  to 
clearness,  they  might  be  a  hindrance;  for  the  divisions 
might  be  too  many,  or  too  ^ew,  or  in  the  wrong  places.  No, 
paragraphs  are  not  made  by  spacing  or  pausing.  The 
spacing  or  pausing  merely  indicates  where  they  are  after 
they  are  made.     They  must  be  made  first.     They  must  be 


70  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 

planned  before  the  essay  or  speech  is  written  or  spoken. 
To  say  that  a  paragraph  is  a  group  of  sentences  set  off  by 
indentation  or  pause  from  another  group  of  sentences  is  to 
give  a  merely  outside  definition  of  the  way  in  which  a  para- 
graph looks  or  sounds  after  it  is  made.  What  we  need  is 
an  inside  definition,  a  definition  that  will  tell  us  how  to 
make  it.  Before  you  write  a  longer  essay  or  speech,  divide 
your  subject  into  such  parts  as  you  can  most  clearly  build 
up  one  by  one  into  a  connected  whole.  The  subject  being 
too  extended  to  be  discussed  all  at  once,  divide  it  into  con- 
venient parts.  Each  of  these  parts  will  be  a  paragraph. 
A  paragraph  is  planned,  therefore,  before  it  is  written.  It 
is  not  yet  a  group  of  sentences;  it  is  a  group  of  ideas  or  facts 
in  the  writer's  mind.  It  is  going  to  be  one  of  the  little 
compositions  which  he  will  build  up  into  his  single  whole 
composition.  He  does  not  yet  know  in  what  words  he  will 
express  it;  but  he  knows  exactly  what  ground  it  will  cover. 
A  paragraph  is  a  certain  part  of  a  subject,  set  off  in  the  plan 
to  he  discussed  by  itself. 

Division,  Grouping  under  Paragraph  Headings.  —  A  para- 
graph is  first  of  all,  then,  one  part  of  the  whole  plan.  After 
jotting  down  any  ideas  and  facts  that  seem  useful  to  bring 
out  your  subject,  and  striking  out  any  that  seem  on  second 
thought  superfluous,  group  the  remainder,  as  they  seem  to 
belong  most  nearly  together,  under  a  few  general  headings. 
These  headings  will  indicate  your  paragraphs.  Each  indi- 
cates that  part  or  tract  of  the  subject  which  can  most  clearly 
be  discussed  by  itself. 

What  the  Norman  Conquest  Meant  to  England 

^  FIRST  NOTES 

1.  Normans  —  adventurous,  ambitious,  leaders  in  France, 
explorers.  English  —  had  just  repelled  attack  of  Danes  in  the 
north. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS  71 

1.  English  more  stay-at-home  (put  this  last),  sober,  steady. 
4.   Norman  Conquest  meant  closer  touch  of  England  with  the 

Continent  in  literature. 

3.  French  then  chief  literary  language  next  to  Latin. 
(French  derived  from  Latin.) 

2.  Norman  victory  meant  Normans  in  all  important  offices  of 
England,  French  language  in  courts  and  schools,  subordination 
of  everything  English. 

3.  English  language  degraded  for  lack  of  literature;  all  writing 
in  French  or  Latin  —  result,  English  kept  its  native  structure, 
but  borrowed  hundreds  of  French  words. 

Thinking  over  such  notes  as  those  above,  the  writer 
groups  them  under  headings:  (1)  contrast  of  the  two  peoples, 
(2)  political  effects  of  the  Conquest,  (3)  effects  on  English 
language,  (4)  effects  on  English  literature.  Then,  by  num- 
bering each  note  accordingly,  as  above,  he  sorts  out  his 
material  into  paragraphs.  He  provides  clearness  for  the 
whole  by  dividing  it  into  convenient  parts. 

This  selection  of  headings  is  called  the  division  of  the 
subject.  It  sometimes  goes  on  while  the  material  is  being 
collected;  sometimes  not  until  afterward.  In  either  case 
it  is  aj)rocess  of  thought,  of  reason.  A  hap-hazard  division 
is  not  likely  to  prove  helpful.  Division  demands  intelli- 
gence and  patience.  It  teaches  systematic  thinking.  A 
good  division  is  a  mark  of  mental  grasp.  The  masters  of 
exposition,  men  like  Huxley  and  Newman,  have  helped  us 
all  to  understand  more  fully  and  think  more  clearly  by  such 
divisions  of  their  subjects  as  group  our  ideas  anew.  They 
help  us  to  sort  our  facts  and  ideas  into  groups  that  we  did 
not  see  ourselves.  What  they  have  thus  done  by  genius, 
great  knowledge,  and  long  training,  every  student  may 
learn  from  simple  beginnings  to  do  with  more  and  more 
intelligence.  And  the  better  he  does  it,  the  more  grasp  he 
gets  of  his  own  knowledge. 


72       CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 

But  the  first  thing  to  remember  is  that  the  division  is 
for  the  benefit  of  the  reader  or  hearer  (page  1).  It  is  a 
device  for  making  the  whole  clear  to  some  one  else.  This 
does  not  in  the  least  make  the  process  less  valuable  to  the 
writer;  it  merely  forces  upon  him  the  right  point  of  view. 
A  division  is  good  in  proportion  as  it  helps  a  hearer  or  reader 
to  follow.  Another  way  of  putting  this  is  to  say,  Look  for 
a  simple,  natural  division.  Some  subjects  seem  almost  to 
have  their  divisions  ready  made.  For  instance,  the  divi- 
sion suggested  above  for  a  theme  on  the  Board  of  Health 
would  occur  to  almost  any  one  investigating  the  subject. 
Such  obvious  divisions  are  best  for  first  attempts.  They 
are  the  better  for  being  simple;  and  they  are  sufficient  for 
clearness.  Make  such  a  simple  division  of  three  or  four 
parts  for  some  of  the  following:  — 

1.  The  Federal  Government. 

2.  The  Duties  of  a  Forest  Warden. 

3.  The  Group  System  of  Electives. 

4.  The  Foreign  Population  of  Our  Country. 

5.  The  Election  of  the  President. 

6.  The  President's  Cabinet. 

7.  Opportunities  for  a  Young  Man  in . 

8.  The  Panama  Canal. 

But  though  a  division  should  always  be  simple  in  the 
sense  of  being  easy  to  understand  and  follow,  it  is  not  neces- 
sarily good  just  because  it  is  simple.  It  ought  not  to  be 
superficial  or  merely  formal.  Almost  every  conceivable 
subject,  for  instance,  may  be  divided  into  (1)  advantages, 
(2)  disadvantages.  That  division  will  usually  kill  all  inter- 
est without  helping  clearness;  for  it  is  both  superficial  and 
formal.  It  is  not  a  real  division;  it  is  only  an  excuse  for 
one.  Equally  formal  is  a  division  into  (1)  introduction, 
(2)  body,  (3)  conclusion.  This  again  is  not  a  real  division; 
for  what  we  need  to  have  divided  is  (2).    The  introduction 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS  73 

can  often  be  best  adjusted  after  the  rest  is  written  or  planned, 
and  need  not  be  a  separate  paragraph;  the  conclusion  is 
merely  the  iteration  at  the  end;  but  the  theme  cannot  well 
be  written  at  all  until  (2)  is  divided  by  some  definite  plan. 
Avoid  superficial  or  formal  divisions.  Divide  with  your 
mind. 

Divide  one  of  the  following  subjects  for  an  oral  address  of  four 
or  five  paragraphs: 

1.  Why  I  Chose  the  Scientific  (or  the  Academic)  Course. 

2.  The  Training  of  a  Hospital  Nurse. 

3.  Lumbering  in  Our  State. 

4.  What  a  Tree  Needs  for  its  Growth. 

5.  The  Effects  of  the  New  Rules  in  Football. 

6.  How  a  Play  was  Given  in  Shakespeare's  Time. 

7.  Should  the  Public  Library  be  Open  on  Sunday? 

8.  My  City  (Town,  or  Village). 

9.  In  What  Ways  Franklin  Showed  Himself  a  Typical  Amer- 
ican. 

10.  The  Importance  of  the  Battle  of  Saratoga. 

(For  other  subjects,  see  the  lists  in  Chapter  i.  and  below  in  the 
present  chapter.) 

So  far  as  possible,  these  themes,  or  at  least  certain  paragraphs 
of  them,  should  be  spoken  to  the  class  before  they  are  written. 
(See  the  head-note  to  this  chapter.)  But  first  the  outlines  should 
be  discussed  and  revised.  (See  pages  15  and  29  for  discussion  of 
reports  and  speeches  in  class.) 

3.   THE  PARAGRAPH   AS   A  STAGE 

If  these  outlines  are  put  upon  the  blackboard,  you  will 
find  hardly  any  two  alike  for  the  same  subject.  That  is 
natural  and  desirable;  for,  instead  of  trying  to  cover  all 
possible  topics  in  the  time,  each  student  will  naturally 
select  such  aspects  as  he  thinks  he  can  handle  with  most 
clearness  and  interest.  Indeed,  the  making  of  an  outline, 
instead  of  being  the  dry  and  mechanical  process  that  some 


74,  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS 

people  fancy,  opens  room  for  originality.  But  the  outlines 
will  differ  in  another  way  which  will  give  each  student  a 
chance  to  learn  from  every  one  else.  Some  will  arrange  their 
parts  in  clearer  order  (Review  pages  26-29).  They  will 
lead  on  better  from  part  to  part  up  to  the  close.  They  will 
show  a  progress  of  thought.  Such  a  progressive  outline 
gives  stronger  coherence  to  the  whole  composition  and 
stronger  emphasis  to  each  paragraph.  For  a  good  para- 
graph is  something  more  than  a  part;  it  is  a  part  in  a  certain 
place.  A  ^paragraph  is  a  distinct  part  of  a  composition 
planned  for  that  place  where  it  will  best  help  along  the  whole. 
Plan,  or  Outline  :  the  Order  of  Paragraphs.  —  The  division 
of  a  subject  into  paragraphs,  then,  means  first  the  choosing 
of  certain  parts  to  be  treated  separately,  one  by  one.  For 
clearness  this  is  necessary,  and  sometimes  it  is  sufficient. 
But  if  your  address  or  essay  is  to  have  that  stronger  cohe- 
rence which  makes  people  follow  because  they  feel  that 
you  are  leading  them  ahead,  you  will  not  be  satisfied  with 
mere  division  into  parts;  you  will  seek  to  arrange  those 
parts  in  an  effective  order.  You  will  plan  your  paragraphs, 
not  merely  as  parts,  but  as  stages.  A  good  paragraph  is  a 
stage  in  the  progress  of  the  whole. 

Why  I  Chose  the  Scientific  Course  (1) 

1.  It  is  more  practical. 

2.  I  like  laboratory  work  better  than  languages. 

3.  The  English  course  is  just  as  good. 

4.  The  Manual  Training  High  School  ranks  as  high  as  the  other 
high  school. 

5.  I  intend  to  be  an  engineer,  because  I  see  the  best  openings 
for  me  in  that  profession. 

Why  I  Chose  the  Scientific  Course  (2) 

1.  In  general  there  is  no  choice  as  to  rank,  the  teaching  in  the 
two  being  equally  good. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS  75 

2.  In  particular,  the  courses  in  English  are  equal  in  extent  and 
excellence. 

3.  The  decision  is  mainly  because  I  can  prepare  more  directly 
for  my  profession,  that  of  engineer. 

4.  But,  besides,  I  think  a  good  guide  is  whether  you  get  better 
training  from  laboratory  work  or  from  languages. 

5.  Thus  the  upshot  of  the  whole  to  me  is  that  the  scientific 
course  is  more  practical. 

The  Paragraph  Subject  a  Complete  Sentence,  —  The  second 
of  the  outlines  above  is  a  revision  of  the  first  for  coherence. 
Both  have  the  same  parts;  but  the  second  has  a  more  thought- 
ful order.  The  paragraphs  are  so  arranged  that  eacti  leads 
better  to  the  next,  and  so  to  the  last.  Now  such  a  revision 
cannot  be  made  surely  unless  each  part  of  the  outline,  each 
of  the  future  paragraphs,  is  expressed  in  a  sentence. 

1.  More  practical.  1.  General  rank. 

2.  Laboratory  training  vs,  Ian-     2.  English  courses. 

guages. 

3.  English  courses.  3.  Engineering  my  profession. 

4.  General  rank.  4.  Laboratory   training  vs,   lan- 

guages. 

5.  Engineering  my  profession.      5.  More  practical. 

Set  down  thus,  in  mere  words  or  phrases,  the  two  outlines 
may  seem  equally  good.  Neither  can  be  judged  as  to  its 
coherence.  For  the  connection  between  two  ideas  can  be 
tested  only  by  putting  each  into  a  sentence.  Practically, 
therefore,  the  subject  of  a  paragraph  is,  not  a  word,  nor  a 
phrase,  nor  a  clause,  but  a  complete  sentence. 

Thus  the  paragraph  outline  for  the  notes  at  page  71  needs 
to  be  thought  out  into  sentences  in  order  to  test  its  progress. 

What  the  Norman  Conquest  Meant  to  England 

PARAGRAPH   OUTLINE 

1.  The  Norman  character  broke  up  the  English  stay-at-home 
spirit. 


76  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 

2.  It  subjected  everything  English  to  the  domination  of  the 
French. 

3.  The  effect  on  the  English  language  was,  not  to  change  its 
structure,  but  to  widen  its  vocabulary. 

4.  The  effect  on  English  literature  was  to  widen  it  by  closer 
touch  with  the  Continent. 

This  means,  as  a  comparison  with  Chapter  i.  will  show, 
that  a  paragraph  is  in  itself  a  brief  whole.  It  is  a  complete 
unit.  Some  of  the  passages  quoted  in  Chapter  i.  are  in 
fact  paragraphs  detached  from  their  context.  They  are 
complete  in  the  sense  of  being  clear,  each  by  itself.  Each 
fully  develops  a  single  root  sentence.  Whatever  else  the 
author  had  to  say  he  kept  for  other  paragraphs.  He  gave 
clearness  to  his  whole  long  composition  by  treating  each 
part  with  separate  completeness.  If  now  any  coherent, 
carefully  planned  speech  or  essay  (not  a  story  or  descrip- 
tion) be  summed  up  by  expressing  each  of  its  paragraphs  in 
a  sentence,  such  a  summary  will  show  from  thought  to 
thought  the  progress  of  the  whole.  The  making  of  such 
outlines  is  excellent  practice,  both  for  study  of  the  thought 
of  others  and  for  help  in  strengthening  the  coherence  of 
your  own  speeches  and  essays. 

Outline  by  Paragraphs  for  Analysis, — The  following  sum- 
maries show  that  this  method,  irrespective  of  subject  or 
style,  applies  to  any  composition  that  has  a  clear  progress 
of  thought.  They  should  be  used  generally  as  models,  and 
particularly  for  the  exercises  indicated  under  each. 

I.    JOSEPH  ADDISON:  LABOR  AND   EXERCISE 

Spectator,  115. 
N.  B.   The  paragraphs  of  this  essay,  as  it  is  usually  printed,  are  marked 
wrongly.     It  is  good  practice  in  such  cases  to  correct  the  indentations 
so  that  they  will  ^correspond  to  the  real  paragraphs. 

1.  The  health  of  country  life  comes  from  its  opportunities  for 
both  kinds  of  labor  —  labor  for  bread  and  labor  for  exercise. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS  77 

2.  The  very  structure  of  our  bodies  suggests  the  necessity  of 
labor  to  keep  it  in  good  condition. 

3.  And  health  of  mind  depends  no  less  on  bodily  labor. 

4.  As  our  bodies  invite  labor,  so  the  necessities  of  most  men's 
lives  compel  it. 

5.  My  friend  Sir  Roger,  not  being  compelled  to  work  for  a  liv- 
ing, resorts  to  hunting  for  exercise. 

6.  And  riding,  indeed,  is  an  exercise  most  salutary  for  both 
sexes. 

7.  For  my  own  part,  when  I  am  cut  off  from  such  opportunities 
in  town,  I  find  great  profit  in  dumbbells  and  wands. 

8.  For,  since  I  am  both  soul  and  body,  I  feel  bound  to  care 
for  both. 

Adapt  this  outline,  by  omissions  and  substitutions,  to  a  five- 
paragraph  essay  of  your  own  on  the  same  topic.  Afterward  read 
Addison's  essay,  to  compare  the  methods  of  developing  the  several 
paragraphs. 

Make  a  similar  outline  of  Irving's  English  Writers  on  America  or 
Rural  Life  in  England,  Notice  that  many  other  papers  in  the 
Sketch  Booky  such  as  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  The  Legend  of  Sleepy 
Hollow  J  being  narrative,  are  not  developed  by  paragraphs,  and  con- 
sequently cannot  be  so  outlined. 

II.    THOMAS    DE    QUINCEY:    ON    THE    KNOCKING    AT    THE    GATE    IN 

MACBETH 

1.  For  a  long  time  I  could  not  imderstand  why  the  knocking 
at  the  gate  after  the  murder  of  Duncan  reflected  back  upon  the 
murder  a  peculiar  awe. 

2.  My  failure  to  understand  it  did  not  make  it  the  less  awful. 

3.  But  at  length  I  saw  that  it  draws  our  attention  from  the 
▼nurder  itself  to  the  feelings  of  the  murderers. 

4.  For  it  shows  their  fiendish  passion  by  the  sharp  reaction 
toward  their  better  selves. 

5.  Thus  even  in  his  least  details  Shakespeare  shows  his  great- 
ness. 

From  study  of  the  play,  develop  this  outline  into  an  oral  address 
of  five  minutes.    If  you  find  little  to  say  on  2,  for  instance,  com- 


78  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 

bine  it  with  1.  If  5  in  your  treatment  is  only  a  brief  summary, 
make  it  the  close  of  4.  Thus  your  address  will  have  three  para- 
graphs. Afterwards  read  De  Quincey's  essay,  to  compare  the 
methods  of  developing  the  several  paragraphs. 

III.    T.  H.  HUXLEY:  HOW  THE  SEA  ATTACKS  THE  COAST 

Physiography,  an  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Nature,  first  four 
paragraphs  of  Chapter  xi. 

1.  The  sea,  by  rolling  the  shore  pebbles  back  and  forth,  is  al- 
ways wearing  the  strand  into  sand. 

2.  The  sea  even  attacks  the  shore  cliffs  with  their  own  fragments. 

3.  In  a  storm  this  attack  on  the  cliffs  is  equivalent  to  bom- 
barding the  coast  with  its  own  ruins. 

4.  The  destruction  is  thus  accomplished,  not  by  mere  water, 
but  by  water  carrying  stones. 

(incomplete) 
Make  a  similar  plan  for  an  oral  address  on  some  other  common 
natural  phenomenon;  e.g.,  clouds,  tides,  icebergs.    Write  this  out 
afterward  as  an  essay. 

IV.    GIFFORD   PINCHOT:  WHERE   TREES   GROW 

A  Primer  of  Forestry,  Part  I,  first  twelve  paragraphs  of  Chap- 
ter ii. 

1.  Where  a  tree  will  grow  depends  upon  its  native  qualities. 

2.  The  regions  for  certain  races  of  trees,  as  for  certain  races  of 
men,  is  partly  determined  by  temperature. 

3.  In  the  same  way  temperature  determines  the  distribution 
of  trees  over  smaller  areas. 

4.  In  both  cases  distribution  is  also  determined  by  moisture. 

5.  But  the  thriving  of  a  particular  tree,  as  distinct  from  a  whole 
species,  depends  much  more  on  its  ability  to  bear  shading  by 
other  trees,  i.e.,  upon  what  is  called  its  tolerance. 

6.  Tolerance  thus  determines  how  many  trees  of  a  given  kind 
will  grow  in  a  given  forest. 

7.  ToleranceMepends,  not  only  on  how  much  light  a  tree  needs, 
but  also  on  what  kind  of  light  and  on  how  fast  the  young  shoot 
naturally  tends  to  grow. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS  79 

8.  Thus,  of  two  intolerant  trees,  that  one  will  survive  which 
grows  faster. 

9.  And  the  rate  of  growth  depends  again  largely  on  the  place. 

10.  Again,  a  species  will  multiply  according  to  whether  its 
seeds  are  so  heavy  as  to  drop  or  so  light  and  winged  as  to  be  car- 
ried by  the  wind. 

11.  The  character  of  the  seeds  thus  largely  determines  whether 
a  species  will  be  found  grouped  together  or  scattered. 

12.  And  this,  together  with  the  other  conditions  mentioned 
before,  makes  certain  whole  species  always  grow  together  in  one 
tract. 

Select  such  parts  of  this  as  you  can  most  readily  develop  into  a 
connected  oral  exposition  of  about  five  minutes. 

Outline  by  Paragraphs  for  Practice.  —  Prepare  an  oral  ad- 
dress of  five  or  six  minutes  according  to  the  paragraph  plan 
indicated  for  each  of  the  subjects  assigned  froin  the  following  list. 
Develop  each  paragraph  fully,  close  it  with  an  emphatic  iteration 
of  its  subject,  and  pause  before  beginning  the  next.  Revise 
this  address  as  a  written  theme.  The  outlines  may  also  be 
adapted  in  ways  such  as  those  suggested  in  the  preceding 
pages. 

I.     THE    MANUAL    TRAINING    HIGH    SCHOOL    FILLS    AN    IMPORTANT 
PLACE  IN   THE   COMMUNITY 

1.  The  courses  combine  general  education  with  manual  courses 
of  several  kinds  and  grades. 

2.  The  object  is  to  give  the  technical  training  that  used  to  be 
gained  by  apprenticeship  to  a  trade. 

3.  Thus  it  opens  a  career  to  many  who  might  otherwise  waste 
themselves  in  minor  business  positions. 

4.  But  it  has  the  wider  object  of  giving  such  general  training 
as  is  not  provided  by  the  study  of  books  —  the  training  of  eye 
and  hand. 

5.  Thus  it  serves  the  state  by  broadening  the  capacity  of  future 
citizens  for  civic  usefulness  and  the  appreciation  of  the  beauty  of 
good  craft. 


80  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS 

II.  WHY   AMERICAN    GIRLS    PREFER    FACTORY    WORK    TO    DOMESTIC 

SERVICE 

1.  There  are  few  native-born  American  girls  in  domestic  ser- 
vice, and  many  in  factories. 

2.  Domestic  service  is  generally  easier,  more  healthful,  and, 
since  a  domestic  servant  receives  board  and  lodging  besides  money 
wages,  generally  better  paid. 

3.  But  a  domestic  servant  has  less  liberty  of  time  and  action. 

4.  Above  all,  she  is  generally  regarded  as  an  inferior. 

5.  So  it  is  clear  that  most  American  girls  value  most  highly 
independence  and  equality. 

III.  HOW    IRRIGATION    HAS    INCREASED    THE    NATIONAL    WEALTH 

1.  A  map  of  the  westward  progress  of  our  settlements  shows 
a  check  at  the  borders  of  far-reaching  arid  lands. 

2.  As  fertile  lands  became  scarcer,  it  was  discovered  that  some 
of  these  arid  lands  were  naturally  fertile,  and  that  water  could 
be  brought. 

3.  The  experiments  of  individuals  and  private  companies 
proved  farming  by  irrigation  to  have  many  advantages  over  the 
old  farming. 

4.  The  federal  government  has  now  recognized  irrigation  as  a 
national  concern. 

With  abundance  of  material,  3  may  be  divided  into  two  or 
three  paragraphs  in  order  to  discuss  the  advantages  separately 
with  greater  fulness;  and  this  in  turn  may  lead  to  the  making  of 
two  themes,  one  including  1,  2,  and  the  general  idea  of  3,  the  other 
developing  fully  3  and  4  in  several  paragraphs. 

IV.    THE  BILL 

(Select  a  bill,  now  before  Congress  or  your  State  legislature, 
about  which  you  have  some  information  and  interest.) 

1.  The  object  of  this  bill  is  .     (Explain 

why  the  measur^  is  proposed.) 

2.  Its  main  provisions  for  carrying  out  this  object  are • 

(Instead  of  quoting  at  length,  give  a  concise  summary.) 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS  81 


3.  Thus  it  is  supported  by because  of , 

and  opposed  by because  of . 

4.  Our  interest  in  it  here  is . 

V.    SUNDAY  BASEBALL 

1.  The  question  as  to  Sunday  baseball  arises  from  two  quite 
different  views  of  Sunday:  (a)  that  the  day  ought  to  be  observed 
with  religious  quiet  and  decorum;  (h)  that  the  day  ought  to  give 
recreation  to  those  who  work  all  the  week.  (Develop  this  para- 
graph by  contrast.) 

2.  The  first  view  comes  from  New  England  traditions  of  our 
older,  American-bom  citizens;  the  second,  from  the  European 
traditions  of  our  increasing  foreign-born  population.  (Develop 
this  paragraph  by  contrast  and  instances.) 

3.  Both  these  views  have  partially  failed  in  practice:  (a)  the 
old  ''blue  laws''  as  to  the  ''Sabbath''  are  no  longer  generally  ac- 
cepted; (h)  the  idea  of  "the  continental  Sunday"  has  sometimes 
led  to  license,  given  opportunity  to  rowdies,  and  tended  to  make 
the  day  a  noisy  holiday. 

4.  Thus,  if  both  parties  claim  too  much,  the  law  might  in  fair- 
ness to  both  permit  baseball  on  Simday  afternoon. 

5.  And  the  individual  boy  or  man  can  help  his  community  by 
taking  his  Sunday  exercise  (a)  only  so  far  as  his  week-day  work 
demands,  and  (6)  in  such  ways  as  not  to  disturb  others. 

This  subject  may  also  be  divided  and  adapted  for  debate.  First 
frame  a  proposition  (page  30)  which  shall  clearly  express  the 
issue.    Instruction  in  debate  will  be  found  in  Chapter  vii. 

VI.    THE  NEED   OF  AN  ISOLATION  HOSPITAL 

1.  Modern  science  has  shown  that  contagious  diseases  are 
preventable. 

2.  So  the  Board  of  Health  placards  houses  where  any  one  has 
scarlet  fever,  diphtheria,  etc.;  i.e.,  isolates  each  case  to  prevent 
the  spread  of  the  disease. 

3.  But  this  method  of  isolation  is  imperfect,  especially  in  crowded 
districts. 

7 


82  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS 

4.  A  far  more  effective  precaution  is  isolation  in  a  special  hos- 
pital. 

5.  The  prejudice  against  having  a  '' pest-house''  in  one's  own 
district  is  unreasonable. 

6.  So  we  should  all  help  to  show  as  many  doubters  as  possible 
the  great  advantages  of  such  a  hospital  to  everybody. 

This  should  serve  as  a  model  for  the  discussion  of  some  actual 
present  local  issue. 

VII.    SHYLOCK  WAS  WRONGED 

1.  The  fact  that  we  do  not  feel  like  crowing  with  Gratiano  when 
Shylock  leaves  the  stage  for  the  last  time  shows  that  we  have 
some  sympathy  with  Shylock. 

2.  This  is  partly  because,  so  long  as  the  court  had  admitted 
the  bond  as  valid,  it  was  mere  quibbling  to  rule  that  the  poimd  of 
flesh  must  be  without  blood. 

3.  And  the  sentence  on  Shylock  was  excessive  to  the  point  of 
cruelty. 

4.  Like  the  sentence,  all  the  actions  of  the  Christians  toward 
Shylock  throughout  the  play  show  a  bigoted  ignoring  of  his  rights 
and  feelings. 

5.  Therefore  we  cannot  but  feel  that  Shylock  was  the  victim 
of  the  intolerance  of  his  time  against  his  race. 

Prepare  an  outline  and  develop  an  address  to  show  on  the  con- 
trary that  Shylock  was  not  wronged.  In  this  way  the  subject 
may  be  brought  into  debate,  as  may  also  the  questions  whether 
Brutus  should  have  joined  the  conspiracy,  whether  Lady  Macbeth 
was  a  virago,  and  any  other  topics  of  current  discussion  in  the 
course  of  literature. 

Such  practice  in  writing  from  an  assigned  outline  by  paragraphs 
cultivates  a  habit  of  orderly  presentation,  of  progressive  plan,  — 
in  a  word,  of  coherence.  It  may  be  continued  as  long  as  it  seems 
helpful;  it  may  be  applied  profitably  to  any  address,  magazine 
article,  or  chapler,  which  impresses  you  by  its  coherence;  but  its 
whole  object  is  to  lead  you  into  such  plan-making  of  your  own. 

The  United  States  naval  station  at  Guam,  a  small  island  in  the 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:   PARAGRAPHS  83 

Pacific,  receives  from  San  Francisco  a  daily  summary  of  news  by 
cable.  As  your  part  of  this  summary,  prepare  an  outline  by  para- 
graphs of  one  or  more  of  the  following:  — 

1.  An  Important  Speech  by . 

2.  The Bill  (introduced  in  Congress). 

3.  The  Report  of  the Association  (or  Committee). 

4.  The  Reasons  for  the  Spread  of  Legislation  Prohibiting  Sa- 
loons. 

5.  This  Yearns  Wheat  Crop. 

6.  The  Progress  of  Our  Navy. 

The  outline  should  be  made  from  an  article  conspicuous  for  its 
clear  coherence.  Then  by  writing  the  subject-sentences  consecu- 
tively, with  proper  connectives,  a  summary  can  be  made  at  once 
concise  and  justly  proportioned.  Digests  for  report,  e.gr.,  in  his- 
tory, may  often  be  made  in  the  same  way. 

4.   THE  PARAGRAPH   ADJUSTED  TO   ITS  PLACE 

Coherence  of  the  Whole  Secured  by  Paragraph  Emphasis. 

—  A  paragraph,  then,  is  a  complete  part  of  a  longer  com- 
position. Being  complete,  it  is  unified  within  itself  as  a 
short  whole  theme  is  unified,  and  developed  as  a  short  whole 
theme  is  developed  (pages  5-15).  Being  complete,  it  is 
also  emphasized  as  a  short  whole  theme  is  emphasized. 
Emphasis  at  the  paragraph  end,  moreover,  is  important  for 
another  purpose;  it  is  the  greatest  help  to  the  coherence  of 
the  whole  composition.  No  better  help  can  be  given  to  the 
progress  of  the  whole  than  a  clear  emphasis  of  each  part. 
Nothing  can  make  it  easier  for  a  hearer  or  reader  to  take 
up  the  next  point  than  to  have  strongly  in  mind  the  point 
you  are  just  leaving.  When  you  pause  in  speaking,  or 
make  a  space  in  writing,  the  hearer  or  reader  needs  to  have 
firmly  fixed  in  mind  the  point  of  that  paragraph.  If  he  is 
sure  of  this,  his  mind  is  open  for  the  next  paragraph;  if  he 
is  not  sure,  if  you  have  not  brought  the  point  home,  instead 


84 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :    PARAGRAPHS 


of  following  you  readily  into  the  next  paragraph  he  will  be 
guessing  about  the  last  one.  His  attention  is  divided,  per- 
haps lost.  There  is  no  more  fruitful  cause  of  incoherence 
than  loose  paragraph  ends;  there  is  no  better  help  to  co- 
herence than  firm  paragraph  ends.  A  reader,  and  still 
more  a  hearer,  needs  to  know  exactly  where  he  is  at  the 
end  of  each  paragraph.  For  a  main  object  of  emphasis  at 
the  end  of  a  paragraph  is  to  show  the  relation  of  that  paragraph 
to  the  whole  composition. 

See  how  this  works  out  in  the  practice  of  clear  speakers 
and  writers  to  knit  the  whole  together. 


I.  PHILLIPS  brooks: 
Epilogue  to  a  sermon  on 
Paragraph  1.     Subject 
The  birthday  of  our  nation 
claims    your    sympathetic    re- 
gard because  to-day  a  nation  is 
the  making-place  of  men. 


THE   FOURTH   OF  JULY 

The  Candle  of  the  Lord 
(Introduction) 

My  friends,  may  I  ask  you  to 
linger  while  I  say  a  few  words 
more  (Link)  which  shall  not  be 
unsuited  to  what  I  have  been 
saying,  and  which  shall,  for 
just  a  moment,  recall  to  you 
the  sacredness  which  this  day, 
the  Fourth  of  July,  the  anni- 
versary of  American  Indepen- 
dence, has  in  the  hearts  of  us 
Americans?  If  I  dare,  gener- 
ously permitted  as  I  am  to 
stand  in  the  venerable  Abbey, 
so  full  of  our  history  as  well  as 
yours,  to  claim  (Subject)  that 
our  festival  shall  have  some 
sacredness  for  you,  my  claim 
rests  on  the  simple  truth  that 
to  all  true  men  the  birthday 
of  a  nation  must  be  a  sacred 
thing   .         ,         . 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 


85 


Paragraph  2.     Subject 
Your  interest   in  our  birth- 
day is  the  higher  interest  of  a 
mother  in  her  son. 


Paragraph  3.     Subject 
So  I  ask,  not  your  praise  for 
my  country,  but  your  prayer. 


(Close)  ''Show  us  your  man," 
land  cries  to  land. 


(Link)  In  such  days  (Subject) 
any  nation,  out  af  the  midst 
of  which  God  has  led  another 
nation  as  He  led  ours  out  of 
the  midst  of  yours,  must  surely 
watch  with  anxiety  and  prayer 
the  peculiar  development  of 
our  common  humanity  of  which 
that  nation  is  made  the  home. 


(Close)  the  mother-land  will 
surely  lose  the  thought  and 
memory  of  whatever  anguish 
accompanied  the  birth,  for  grat- 
itude over  the  gain  which  hu- 
manity has  made,  ''for  joy 
that  a  man  is  bom  into  the 
world." 


(Link)  It  is  for  me  to  glorify 
to-night  the  country  which  I 
love  with  all  my  heart  and  soul. 
(Subject)  1  may  not  ask  your 
praise  for  anything  admirable 
which  the  United  States  has 
been  or  done.  But  on  my 
country's  birthday   I   may   do 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:    PARAGRAPHS 


something  far  more  solemn  and 
more  worthy  of  the  hour,  I 
may  ask  for  your  prayers 
her  behalf    . 


(Close)  Because  you  are  Eng- 
lishmen and  I  am  an  Ameri- 
can; also  because  here,  under 
this  high  and  hospitable  roof 
of  God,  we  are  all  more  than 
Englishmen  and  more  than 
Americans;  because  we  are  all 
men,  children  of  God  waiting 
for  the  full  coming  of  our 
Father's  Kingdom,  I  ask  you 
for  that  prayer. 

Make   a   similar   outline   for   an   oral   address   on    How   We 
Americans  Should  Keep  Our  National  Holiday, 

II.  BRANDER  MATTHEWS:   AMERICAN  CHARACTER  (Five  paragraphs 

from  §  II) 
Paragraph  Subject 

Americans  care  less  (Announcement  of  subject.)  In  his 
to  have  money  than  to  talk  with  Tolstoi  our  French  critic 
make  it.  revealed  an  imexpected  insight  when 
he  asserted  that  the  passion  of  Amer- 
ican life  was  not  so  much  the  use  of 
money  as  the  delight  in  the  conquest 
of  it 


(Paragraph  close ^  emphasis  by  itera- 
tion.) Merely  to  have  money  does  not 
greatly  delight  him  —  although  he 
would  regret  not  having  it;  but  what 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :  PARAGRAPHS 


87 


This  is  shown  also  by 
the  free  giving  of  the 
individual  rich  man  to 
the  community. 


And  the  prestige  of 
wealth  here  is  hindered 
by  the  rapid  shifting  of 
fortunes. 


does   delight   him   unceasingly   is  the 
fun  of  making  it. 

(Link.)  The  money  itself  often  he 
does  not  know  what  to  do  with; 
(Announcement  of  subject)  and  he  can 
find  no  more  selfish  use  for  it  than  to 
give  it  away.      .  .... 

(Paragraph  close,  iteration  empha- 
sized by  contrast.)  Nothing  remotely 
resembling  it  is  to  be  seen  now  in  any 
country  of  the  Old  World;  and  not 
even  in  Athens  in  its  noblest  days  was 
there  a  larger-handed  lavishness  of 
the  individual  for  the  benefit  of  the 
community. 

(Link)  Again,  in  no  country  of  the 
Old  World  (Announcement  of  subject) 
is  the  prestige  of  wealth  less  powerful 
than  it  is  here 


Besides,  the  United 
States  can  show,  at  least 
as  readily  as  any  other 
country,  many  men  who 
have  deliberately  given 


(Paragraph  close,  emphasis  by  iteror 
tion  of  proof.)  Wealth  is  likely  to  lack 
something  of  its  glamour  in  a  land 
where  well-being  is  widely  diffused  and 
where  a  large  proportion  of  the  popu- 
lation have  either  had  a  fortune  and 
lost  it,  or  else  expect  to  gain  one  in 
the  immediate  future. 

(Link.)  Probably  also  there  is  no 
country  which  now  contains  (Announce^ 
ment  of  subject)  more  men  who  do  not 
greatly  care  for  large  gains  and  who 
have  gladly  given  up  money-making 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:  PARAGRAPHS 


up  money-making  for 
some  pursuit  that  they 
hked  better. 


Still  we  must  deplore 
many  rich  men  who  have 
the  vices  charged  by  for- 
eigners upon  the  coun- 
try as  a  whole. 


for  some  other  occupation  they  found 
more  profitable  for  themselves.    . 

(Paragraph  close,  emphasis  by  sum- 
mary.) There  are  not  a  few  men  to- 
day in  these  toiling  United  States  who 
hold  with  Ben  Jonson  that '  *  money  never 
made  any  man  rich,  —  but  his  mind." 

(Link.)  But  while  this  is  true, 
while  there  are  some  men  among  us 
who  care  little  for  money,  and  while 
there  are  many  who  care  chiefly  for 
the  making  of  it,  ready  to  share  it 
when  made  with  their  fellow-citizens, 
(Announcement  of  subject)  candor  com- 
pels the  admission  that  there  are  also 
not  a  few  who  are  greedy  and  grasping, 
selfish  and  shameless,  and  who  stand 
forward,  conspicuous  and  unscrupulous, 
as  if  to  justify  to  the  full  the  aspersions 
which  foreigners  cast  upon  us. 


(Paragraph  close,  emphasis  by  appli- 
cation bringing  the  point  home.)  We 
need  to  stiffen  our  conscience  and  to 
set  up  a  loftier  standard  of  social  inter- 
course, refusing  to  fellowship  with  the 
men  who  make  their  money  by  over- 
riding the  law  or  by  undermining  it. 

III.  macaulay:  the  life  of  johnson  (Paragraphs  42,  43,  44) 
Paragraph  Subject 

Johnson   ignored  the  (Link.)     Of    other    assailants    (An- 

published  attacks  of  his      nouncement   of   subject)    Johnson   took 
enemies.  no  notice  whatever.     . 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :  PARAGRAPHS 


89 


But  he  impaired  his 
own  reputation  by  pub- 
lishing Taxation  No 
Tyranny, 


This  failure  was  due, 
not  to  decaying  powers, 
but  to  unfitness  for  the 
subject. 


(Paragraph  close,  epigrammatic  quo^ 
tation,  iteration  in  effect,  though  not  in 
wards.)  No  saying  was  oftener  in  his 
mouth  than  that  fine  apothegm  of 
Bentley,  that  no  man  was  ever  written 
down  but  by  himself. 

(Link.)  Unhappily,  a  few  months 
after  the  appearance  of  the  '*  Journey 
to  the  Hebrides, ''  Johnson  did  what 
none  of  his  envious  assailants  could 
have  done,  (Announcement  of  subject) 
and  to  a  certain  extent  succeeded  in 
writing  himself  down. 

(Paragraph  close,  summary.)  The 
general  opinion  was  that  the  strong 
faculties  which  had  produced  the 
''Dictionary''  and  the  Rambler  were  be- 
ginning to  feel  the  effect  of  time  and  of 
disease,  and  that  the  old  man  would  best 
consult  his  credit  by  writing  no  more. 

(Link.)  But  this  was  a  great  mis- 
take. Johnson  had  failed,  not  because 
his  mind  was  less  vigorous  than  when 
he  wrote  ''Rasselas"  in  the  evenings 
of  a  week,  (Announcement  of  subject) 
but  because  he  had  foolishly  chosen,  or 
suffered  others  to  choose  for  him,  a 
subject  such  as  he  would  at  no  time 
have  been  competent  to  treat.     . 

(Paragraph  close,  iteration.)  Hap- 
pily, Johnson  soon  had  an  opportxmity 
of  proving  most  signally  that  his  fail- 
ure was  not  to  be  ascribed  to  intellec- 
tual decay. 


90  CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:   PARAGRAPHS 

(These  three  paragraphs  show  the  same  general  method  of  fur- 
thermg  the  coherence  of  the  whole  by  closing  each  paragraph 
emphatically  and  by  beginning  the  next  with  some  reference  to 
this  close.  The  passage  above,  being  expository,  needs  less  explicit 
connection  than  an  oral  argument.  The  rest  of  Macaulay's  piece, 
though  it  is  called  an  essay,  is  so  largely  narrative  that  it  shows 
even  less  of  this  explicit  reference.  Where  he  pauses  to  explain, 
he  will  often  announce  the  paragraph  subject  at  the  beginning  and 
iterate  it  at  the  end;  but  in  other  parts  he  is  simply  following 
the  order  of  events,  and  this,  rather  than  any  expository  plan,  is 
the  plan  of  the  piece  as  a  whole.  In  other  words,  the  importance 
of  paragraph  emphasis  and  of  transition  from  paragraph  to  para- 
graph varies  according  to  the  degree  of  logic  or  reasoning  in  the 
whole  plan.) 

Analyze  in  this  way  Irving 's  English  Writers  on  America  or 
Rural  Life  in  England,  noting  any  places  where  the  printer  seems 
to  have  put  a  paragraph  space  in  the  wrong  place. 

Both  paragraph  emphasis  and  transition  (see  the  section  follow- 
ing) are  more  marked  in  oral  composition,  because  they  are  more 
important  as  a  means  of  clearness  when  the  coherence  can  be 
caught  only  by  the  ear.  The  need  of  them  is  greater  also  in  pro- 
portion as  the  composition  is  more  argumentative ;  for  in  argument 
nothing  is  more  important  than  the  connection.  Therefore  the 
best  practice  toward  this  particular  skill  is  given  by  connected 
oral  argument,  not  mere  brief  rejoinder  in  impromptu  debate,  but 
a  sustained  argument  involving  several  steps.  Since  this  is  too 
taxing  for  many  pupils  at  this  stage,  the  idea  is  often  better  en- 
forced by  analysis,  as  above.  Students  who  are  ready  for  some- 
what extended  argument  may  use  any  available  subject  in  this 
chapter  or  in  Chapter  i.  as  the  basis  for  a  proposition,  to  be  devel- 
oped, not  by  debate,  but  by  a  single  speech  on  one  side,  or  on  one 
group  of  points.  But  both  these  and  those  who  prefer  exposition 
should  practice  the  following  order  of  preparation  for  at  least 
one  theme : 

(1)  Limit  the  subject  to  what  can  be  developed  fully  in  six  or 
eight  minutes.  If  you  are  to  argue,  the  subject  must  be  cast  in 
a  definite  and  complete  sentence. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:   PARAGRAPHS  91 

(2)  Divide  the  material  into  paragraphs. 

(3)  Express  the  gist  of  each  paragraph  in  a  subject  sentence. 

(4)  Arrange  the  paragraphs  in  the  order  easiest  to  follow. 

(5)  Write  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  each  paragraph,  so 
that  the  outline  will  look  like  the  analyses  above. 

(6)  Develop  the  body  of  each  paragraph  orally  without  writing. 

(7)  Speak  the  whole  address  connectedly  with  the  outline  before 
you. 

Whether  writing  out  is  assigned  afterwards  or  not,  do  not  write 
out  before  speaking.  The  process  should  be  started  far  enough 
in  advance  to  insure  time  for  thought,  practice,  and  discussion 
in  class  at  several  stages  of  preparation.  One  composition  of  this 
kind  worked  out  well  is  worth  three  dashed  off  hastily. 

Most  of  the  following  additional  subjects  suggest  exposition  rather 
than  argument,  but  are  adapted  for  oral  discussion : 

1.  Night  Schools.  10.    School  Yards  as  Vaca- 

2.  Our  Indian  Wards.  tion  Playgrounds. 

3.  The  Education  of  the  11.  Boone  as  a  Type  of 
Street.  American  Frontiersman. 

4.  The  Future  of  Alaska.  12.    The  Preservation  of  Our 

5.  The  Search  for  the  Pole.  Forests. 

6.  Fatjier  Damien.  13.    The  American  Ideals  of 

7.  The    George    Junior   Re-  Jefferson. 

public.  14.    "The  White  Plague." 

8.  My  Vocation.  15.    Montcalm  and  Wolfe. 

9.  What  our  Italian  Immi-  16.  The  Achievements  of 
grants  Can  Do  for  Us.                     Lewis  and  Clark. 

Coherence  of  the  Whole  Confirmed  by  Words  of  Transition. 

—  The  outlines  in  the  preceding  section  show  the  progress 
of  the  whole  from  part  to  part.  They  exhibit  each  stage 
in  its  relation  to  the  whole.  And  they  show  something 
else.  The  opening  of  each  paragraph,  while  it  announces 
the  new  paragraph  subject,  refers  to  the  preceding  para- 
graph by  some  word  or  phrase  or  clause  or  even  sentence 
of   connection.     These   link-words   complete   the   chain   of 


92 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN:   PARAGRAPHS 


coherence.     They  are  the  finishing  touch.     Without  clear 
emphasis  at  the  end  of  the  preceding  paragraph,  the  Unking 
would  be  harder  and  longer;  with  such  emphasis  preceding, 
the  linking  is  at  once  easier  to  make  and  clearer  to  follow. 
For  it  often  consists  in  repeating  from  the  close  of  the  pre- 
ceding paragraph  certain  significant  words.     Such  repeti- 
tion is  the  easiest  and  most  natural  way  of  carrying  the 
thought  along.     For  the  rest,  the  linking  is  merely  an  affair 
of  finding  the  right  conjunctions  (putj  moreover ,  besides j  for, 
on  the  contrary  J  etc.),  or  of  using  demonstrative  pronouns 
and  adverbs  (this,  that,  here,  there,  in  such  cases,  etc.).     But, 
as  usually  in  the  actual  practice  of  composition,  if  the  prob- 
lems of  structure,  of  shaping,  are  solved  first,  the  choice  of 
,  words  is  much  easier.     First,  arrange  the  parts  in  effective 
I  order;  then  bring  each  part  to  effective  emphasis  at  its 
-,  close;  finally  show  by  Hnk-words,  whether  repetitions,  demon- 
'Stratives,  or  conjunctions,  the  connection  that  you  have 
^  already  planned. 

Thus  a  well-rounded  paragraph  finally  looks  something 
like  this: 


Pause,  or 
indented  space. 


Words  of  connection.      Subject  of  the 


paragraph, 
tion,  etc. 


Development  by  instances,  contrast. 


illustra- 


iteration  for  emphasis. 


CLEARNESS  IN  PLAN  :   PARAGRAPHS  93 

The  new  problems  arising  in  longer  expositions  or  argu- 
ments, then,  are  problems  of  coherence.  The  solution  is, 
first,  to  divide  the  subject  into  paragraphs;  secondly,  to 
arrange  the  paragraphs  according  to  a  progressive  plan; 
thirdly,  to  develop  each  paragraph  so  that  it  closes  em- 
phatically upon  its  point;  finally,  to  indicate  at  the  begin- 
ning of  each  paragraph  its  connection  with  the  preceding. 
For  coherence  in  longer  expositions  and  arguments  means 
planning  by  paragraphs  and  adjusting  them  to  fit. 

SUMMARY  OF  THE  CHAPTER 

1.  The  principle  of  unity  applying  to  longer  compositions 
merely  with  less  strictness,  and  the  principle  of  emphasis  without 
any  modification  at  all,  the  most  important  practical  considera- 
tion in  longer  compositions  is  coherence. 

2.  The  first  step  in  planning  for  coherence  is  to  divide  the 
subject  into  paragraphs.  A  paragraph  is  a  certain  part  of  a  sub- 
ject, set  off  in  the  plan  to  be  discussed  by  itself. 

3.  The  second  step  is  to  arrange  the  paragraph  subjects  in  such 
order  as  will  help  an  easy  following  from  each  to  the  next.  A 
paragraph  is  a  distinct  part  of  a  composition  planned  for  that 
place  where  it  will  best  help  along  the  whole.  Hence  its  subject 
must  be  expressed  in  the  plan  as  a  sentence. 

4.  After  the  whole  is  thus  planned,  each  paragraph  is  developed 
and  emphasized  in  the  same  way  as  a  separate  short  composition. 
Good  emphasis  in  each  paragraph  also  serves  directly  the  cohe- 
rence of  the  whole  composition. 


CHAFER  IV 

CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS:   SENTENCES 

For  themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  see  the  head-note  to  Chap- 
ter Hi.  Exercises  in  revision  should  be  based,  not  only  on  the 
passages  quoted  in  the  text,  but  regularly  on  the  current  themes. 

1.   SENTENCES    AND    WORDS    STUDIED    BEST    IN 
REVISION 

The  study  of  composition  is  a  study  of  the  ways  of  put- 
ting thoughts  together.  It  is  concerned  first  with  the  think- 
ing out  and  ordering  of  the  whole,  only  afterward  with  the 
adjustment  of  parts.  But  the  whole  having  been  planned 
by  paragraphs,  and  each  paragraph  having  been  placed 
as  a  definite  stage  of  progress,  every  one  needs  to  revise 
his  sentences  and  words  in  order  to  niake  what  he  says 
conform  in  every  part  to  what  he  means. 

2.   REVISION  OF  SENTENCES 

Good  paragraphs  come  from  prevision;  but  good  sen- 
tences come  from  revision.  The  way  to  learn  clearness 
and  force  of  sentence-form  is  to  rewrite.  For  it  is  hard 
and  unprofitable  to  think  of  sentence-form  during  the  writ- 
ing of  the  first  draft.  The  important  thing  then  is  to  put 
a  statement  where  it  belongs,  not  to  put  it  in  a  certain 
form.  The  line  of  thought  is  quite  enough  to  absorb  atten- 
tion. During  ^the  first  writing,  therefore,  instead  of  hesi- 
tating over  the  form  of  a  sentence,  compose  as  fast  and  as 
freely  as  possible  with  your  mind  bent  on  the  thought  of 

94 


SENTENCES  95 

the  paragraph.     Then,  when  the  paragraph  is  at  last  a  group 
of  sentences,  revise  every  sentence  that  does  not  fit  its  place. 

So  in  speaking,  the  first  consideration  is  to  keep  on.  If 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  you  think  of  a  better  form,  never 
mind.  Finish  the  sentence  nevertheless  as  you  started  it. 
For  if  you  stop  in  order  to  start  it  differently,  you  tend  to 
annoy  and  confuse  your  hearers  and  to  lose  your  thread. 
Keep  on  to  the  end  of  the  paragraph.  Then,  if  you  are 
practicing  alone,  go  back  to  revise;  if  you  are  speaking  in 
public,  simply  remember  the  weak  sentence,  to  avoid  that 
kind  in  the  future. 

It  is  precisely  because  speaking  gives  less  opportunity  for 
revision  that  sentence-form  must  be  studied  mainly  through 
writing.  We  all  expect  of  writing  more  careful,  more  de- 
liberate sentences.  We  assume  that  a  writer  has  settled  on 
just  the  form  he  intends.  We  expect  him  to  revise.  Now 
every  time  he  revises  he  grooves  deeper  a  channel  of  good 
habit.  The  sentences  of  his  first  drafts  become  clearer  and 
stronger  because  he  has  thus,  as  it  were,  grooved  straighter 
channels  for  his  thought.  He  speaks  in  better  sentences 
because  he  has  revised  his  writing;  and  for  the  same  reason 
he  writes  better  sentences  before  revising  than  as  a  beginner 
he  wrote  after  revising.  But  the  most  expert  writers  never 
cease  to  revise  their  sentences.  More  corrections  of  this 
kind  are  made  in  printers^  proofs  than  of  any  other  kind. 
All  experience,  therefore,  makes  plain  that  in  matters  of 
sentence-structure  the  way  to  learn  to  write  is  to  rewrite. 

Unity  and  Coherence  in  Sjmtax.  —  The  revision  of  any 
sentence  has  to  solve  one  of  two  problems,  and  sometimes 
both:  (1)  to  make  the  sentence  clear  by  itself;  (2)  to  make 
it  strong  in  support  of  its  neighbors.  The  first  is  mainly  a 
matter  of  syntax.  The  apphcation  of  grammar  to  com-- 
position  is  so  to  frame  each  sentence  that  a  hearer  or  reader  | 
can  follow  it  instantly. 


96  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

Review,  with  examples,  the  definition  of  a  simple  sentence,  a 
complex  sentence,  a  compound  sentence,  a  clause,  a  phrase. 

Clear  Simple  Sentences.  —  The  easiest  form  to  make  clear 
is  the  simple  sentence;  but  even  this  demands  some  care. 

Coming  nearer,  the  fire  was  found  to  be  in  the  hotel. 

Grammatical  analysis  of  this  simple  sentence  shows  that 
it  lacks  a  noun  to  which  the  participle  coming  may  refer. 

The  fire,  coming  nearer,  was  found  to  be  in  the  hotel. 

That,  indeed,  is  grammatically  correct;  but  it  is  not  what 
the  writer  meant. 

Coming  nearer,  we  found  the  fire  to  be  in  the  hotel. 

That  is  what  he  meant.  Why  did  he  not  write  the  sen- 
tence so?  Because,  starting  with  the  subject  we  in  his 
mind,  he  so  far  forgot  his  plan  as  to  make  fire  the  subject 
instead.  A  participle  standing  at  the  beginning  of  an 
English  sentence  is  always  understood,  except  in  "  abso- 
lute'^  constructions,  to  refer  to  the  sentence  subject.  The 
error  in  the  first  form  of  this  sentence  is  called  the  hanging 
participle.  No  one  will  thus  leave  a  participle  hanging 
who  remembers  that  the  first  way  to  make  a  sentence  clear 
is  to  keep  one  plan  throughout. 

Correct  the  following: 

Turning  now  to  the  road-bed,  gravel  is  at  hand  for  miles  along 
the  line. 

Not  wishing  to  insist,  this  point  demands  attention. 

Hoping  to  receive  your  order,  prompt  delivery  is  guaranteed. 

Putting  this  aside  for  the  moment,  the  antagonism  of  races 
cannot  be  ignored. 

The  following  sentence  changes  its  plan  in  another  way: 

The  day  endeared  by  our  New  England  traditions,  and  which 


SENTENCES  .  97 

is  annually  proclaimed  for  religious  observance,  is  now  little  more 
than  a  holiday. 

Starting  with  the  intention  of  two  parallel  phrases,  en- 
deared by  .  .  .  and  proclaimed  for,  the  writer  carelessly 
spoiled  his  parallel  by  making  the  second  a  clause.  Starting 
to  write  a  simple  sentence,  he  wrote  an  incorrect  complex 
sentence.  For  the  so-called  and  which  error  is  merely 
another  case  of  failing  to  keep  one  plan. 

The  following  sentence  might  be  a  clause  except  for  the 
period  or  the  fall  of  the  voice  at  the  end: 

When  in  Washington  he  saw  the  President. 

It  would  be  clearer  from  the  start  if  it  omitted  the  when: 

In  Washington  he  saw  the  President. 

For  then  we  should  know  at  once  that  the  first  words  were 
intended  as  a  phrase. 

Cincinnati  is  nearer  St.  Louis  than  Chicago. 

What  does  this  mean? 

Cincinnati  is  nearer  to  St.  Louis  than  to  Chicago. 

or 

Cincinnati  is  nearer  St.  Louis  than  Chicago  is. 

We  cannot  be  sure;  for  the  form  of  the  sentence  does  not 
show  us  whether  Chicago  is  nominative  or  objective.  Even 
a  grammatically  correct  simple  sentence  may  fail  to  make 
its  construction  clear.  Never  leave  the  form  of  a  sentence 
in  doubt. 

Clear  Complex  Sentences 

He  kept  the  money  that  he  gained  from  printing  pamphlets  in 
his  bedroom. 

Though  it  is  more  probable  that  a  man  should  keep  money 
in  his  bedroom  than  that  he  should  print  pamphlets  there, 
8 


98  CLEARANCE  IN  DETAILS 

this  is  no  excuse  for  what  is  called  the  squinting  construc- 
tion. 

He  kept  in  his  bedroom  the  money  that  he  gained  from  printing 
pamphlets. 

The  change  is  simply  to  put  the  doubtful  modifier  in  his 
bedroom  next  to  the  word  it  actually  modifies,  and  away 
from  the  word  it  might  otherwise  seem  to  modify. 

In  the  same  way  make  the  following  sentence  clear: 

They  were  disowned  by  the  very  man  who  had  sought  their 
support  when  the  plot  was  discovered. 

The  second  way  to  make  a  sentence  clear  is  to  place  each 
modifier  near  the  word  it  modifies. 

Even  in  a  simple  sentence  the  placing  of  such  adverbial 
modifiers  as  only  demands  attention. 

I  only  touched  him  once 

is  quite  different,  of  course,  from 

I  touched  him  only  once. 

But  usually  the  difficulty  arises  in  complex  sentences;  and 
so  does  the  following: 

When  the  French  explorers  met  these  Indians,  their  intention 
was  to  be  friendly  with  them. 

The  doubtful  reference  of  the  pronoun  their  is  corrected 
best,  as  in  most  of  such  cases,  by  recasting  the  sentence: 

The  intention  of  the  French  explorers,  when  they  met  these 
Indians,  was  to  be  friendly. 

For  the  main  idea  of  the  sentence  (The  intention  of  the 
French  explorers  was  to  he  friendly) '  should  compose  the 
main  clause.  Thus  the  sentence  would  be  even  easier  to 
/ead,  if  it  stood  thus: 


SENTENCES  99 

When  they  met  these  Indians,  the  French  explorers  intended 
to  be  friendly. 

If  the  real  subject  of  a  complex  sentence  be  made  the 
subject  of  the  main  clause,  the  plan  of  the  whole  sentence 
will  probably  be  clear. 

The  general  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  when  the 
whole  audience  cheered. 

This  sentence  is  upside  down.  Evidently  the  main  idea 
is,  The  whole  audience  cheered.  But,  by  putting  this  into 
the  subordinate  clause,  the  writer  suggests  that  the  general 
waited  for  the  audience  to  cheer  before  he  advanced.  The 
clear  form  is: 

When  the  general  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  the 
whole  audience  cheered. 

The  third  way  to  make  a  sentence  clear  is  to  see  that  the 
main  thought  is  in  the  main  clause. 

Revise  those  of  the  following  sentenceis  which  leave  the  con- 
struction in  doubt :  — 

A  man  who  has  represented  this  district  faithfully  for  ten  years, 
and  who  has  convinced  us  all  of  his  honesty,  is  not  to  be  cast  off 
for  a  single  indiscretion,  granting  that  it  is  an  indiscretion. 

Yours  of  the  14th,  received  yesterday,  and  which  we  have  con- 
sidered with  care,  we  beg  to  make  the  following  offer,  hoping  that 
it  will  meet  your  wishes. 

He  sauntered  up  the  trail  when  he  suddenly  came  face  to  face 
with  the  bear. 

Clear  Compound  Sentences.  —  A  compound  sentence 
will  probably  be  clear  if  it  is  a  true  compound  sentence. 
According  to  definition,  a  compound  sentence  has  two  or 
more  co-ordinate  members.  Its  parts  are  of  equal  im- 
portance.    This  is  its  distinction  from  a  complex  sentence. 


100  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

In  a  complex  sentence  the  clauses  are  unequal;  in  a  com- 
pound sentence  the  clauses  are  equal.  In  a  complex  sen- 
tence there  is  only  one  main  clause;  in  a  compound 
sentence  there  are  at  least  two.  And  this  grammatical 
distinction  of  form  represents  a  real  distinction  of  thought. 
A  complex  sentence  is  the  form  proper  to  express  one  main 
statement  with  its  subordinate,  modifying  statements;  a 
compound  sentence  is  proper  to  express  the  comparison  or 
contrast  of  two  statements  by  placing  them  side  by  side. 

Proper  Compound  Sentence:  Lincoln  stood  for  the  principle  of 
Union,  and  Douglas  stood  for  the  principle  of  states'  rights. 

Here  the  sentence  is  properly  compound;  for  it  expresses 
the  single  idea  of  contrast  by  putting  the  two  contrasted 
parts  side  by  side.  These  two  parts  are  co-ordinate;  they 
are  equal  parts  of  one  idea. 

Improper  Compound  Sentence:  Caesar  was  afraid  of  ridicule,  and 
he  put  aside  his  wife's  entreaties  and  went  after  all  to  the  Capitol. 

Here  the  sentence  is  improperly  compound;  for  the  state- 
ments, instead  of  being  co-ordinate,  are  unequal.  There 
is  one  main  statement:  Caesar  went  after  all  to  the  Capitol. 
The  other  statements  are  subordinate.  The  first,  telling 
why  he  went,  and  the  second,  telling  that  he  had  reasons 
for  not  going,  should  be  clauses;  for,  instead  of  being  parallel 
with  the  main  statement,  they  are  merely  modifiers.  In  a 
word,  the  sentence  ought  to  be  complex: 

Caesar  was  so  afraid  of  ridicule  that,  though  his  wife  entreated 
him  to  remain  (orj  as  a  phrase,  in  spite  of  his  wife's  entreaties),  he 
went  after  all  to  the  Capitol. 

The  fourth  why  to  make  a  sentence  clear  is  to  change  its 
form  from  compound  to  complex  whenever  its  parts  are  not 
meant  to  he  co-ordinate. 


SENTENCES. ^,    ,    „     .,.,.,,    .IQl 

Change  to  the  complex  form  any  of  the  following  sentences 
that  are  improperly  compound: 

God  made  the  country,  but  man  made  the  town. 

Our  boat  was  late,  and  we  had  to  wait  three  hours  for  a  train. 

The  manual-training  high  school  offers  less  work  in  language; 
and  a  boy  intending  to  enter  the  academic  course  at  the  university 
had  better  prepare  in  the  regular  high-school  course. 

Improper  compound  sentences,  sentences  in  which  the 
parts  are  co-ordinate  in  form  though  one  of  them  is  subordi- 
nate in  meaning,  arise  sometimes  from  haste.  They  are 
quite  pardonable  in  a  first  draft.  But  they  arise  also  from 
thinking  loosely.  To  recognize  them  and  correct  them  is 
an  exercise  not  so  much  in  writing  as  in  thinking.  It  is  a 
sign  of  intellectual  growth.  Children  habitually  speak  in 
such  loose  compound  sentences  because  they  are  not  old 
enough  to  subordinate  one  idea  to  another.  And  in  this 
the  childhood  of  a  language  is  like  the  childhood  of  a  man. 
The  earlier  prose  writing  of  any  nation  is  full  of  such  loose 
compound  sentences,  because  the  language  has  not  yet 
grown  up  to  fine  logical  distinctions.  In  children  and  in 
old  prose  we  expect  this.  It  is  natural.  But  as  the  prose 
of  a  people  grows  with  the  people^s  intellectual  life,  it  makes 
larger  and  larger  use  of  complex  sentences.  So  it  should  be 
with  your  own  writing.  Slowly,  but  surely,  you  ought  to 
revise  such  a  compound  sentence  as  this, 

Brutus  did  not  know  human  nature,  and  his  speech  failed. 

to  a  complex  sentence, 

The  speech  of  Brutus  failed  because  he  did  not  know  human 
nature. 

For  it  is  a  sign  of  intellectual  growth  to  subordinate  in  form 
what  is  subordinate  in  thought. 

In  the  passages  quoted  from  R.  H.  Dana  at  pages  8  and  18, 


;02.  „. .  ^ . , . . , .       CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

find  improper  compound  sentences  and  make  them  complex. 
When  you  find  such  sentences  in  notices,  advertisements,  or  else- 
where, copy  them  for  correction  on  the  blackboard. 

Punctuation  and  Capitals.  —  As  all   these   counsels   of 

sentence-form  take  the  point  of  view  of  the  reader,  so  also 

the  rules  for  punctuation  and  capitals.     We  should  hardly 

need  to  punctuate  at  all,  if  we  wrote  merely  for  ourselves. 

The  object  of  punctuation  is  to  show  a  reader  instantly 

I  the  form  of  a  sentence.     For  punctuation  is  simply  the 

1  indication  of  sentence-form.     Considered  so,  the  rules  of 

'  punctuation  become  simpler. 

But  first  we  may  set  apart  certain  conventional  rules  of 
punctuation.  These  may  be  merely  memorized  as  settled 
by  common  usage. 

Conventional  Rules  of  Punctuation,  —  (1)  A  period  stands 
after  an  abbreviation: 

Hon.,  D.D.,  Ph.D.,  LL.D.,  Mass.,  etc.,  viz. 

(2)  (a)  A  colon  stands  at  the  end  of  a  sentence  intro- 
ducing a  long  quotation: 

The  formal  exercises  finished,  the  President  rose  and  spoke  as 
follows : 

"Never  in  the  history  of  our  coimtry,"  etc. 

Sometimes  both  a  colon  and  a  dash  (: — )  are  used  in 
this  case.     The  quotation  is  indented  as  a  paragraph. 

(b)  A  colon  stands  before  such  an  enumeration  of  particu- 
lars as  requires  semicolons  between  the  particulars: 

The  capital  leading  questions  .  .  .  are  these  two:  first,  whether 
you  ought  to  concede;  and,  second,  what  your  concession  ought 
to  be. 

A  colon  stands  at  the  beginning  of  a  letter  after  a  saluta- 
tion consisting  of  two  or  more  parts: 


SENTENCES  103 

Messrs.  Black  and  White, 
Gentlemen: 

A  salutation  of  one  line  {My  dear  Mr.  Black,)  more  usually 
has  a  comma,  but  may  have  a  colon. 

(3)  (a)  Commas  divide  a  series  of  words  without  conjunc- 
tions: 

Barrels,  boxes,  crates,  floated  downstream. 
He  swerved,  slipped,  sprawled. 

If  a  conjunction  is  used  between  the  last  two  of  the  series, 
the  dividing  comma  is  now  usually  retained,  but  the  comma 
after  the  whole  series  may  be  omitted: 

Barrels,  boxes,  and  crates  floated  downstream. 

If  the  series  is  in  pairs,  commas  separate  the  pairs: 

Great  and  small,  rich  and  poor,  cultured  and  uncultured,  rubbed 
elbows  in  that  crowd. 

(6)  A  comma  is  used  before  a  short  quotation: 

It  was  Daniel' Webster  who  said,  "I  am  a  Constitutional  Whig." 

In  this  case  the  quotation  is  not  set  off  by  indentation. 

(4)  The  other  marks  are  generally  self-explaining: 

(a)  A  point  of  exclamation  or  interrogation  stands  after  a 
part  or  after  the  whole  sentence  according  to  whether  the 
part  or  the  whole  is  exclaimed  or  asked.  In  either  case  it 
supersedes  any  other  punctuation: 

Heavens!  can  this  be  true? 
What?    Clap  him  into  jail  I 

(6)  Single  marks  of  quotation  indicate  a  quotation  within  a 
quotation  ("'  '''). 

(c)  Marks  of  parenthesis  are  no  longer  common,  except  to 


104  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

insert  instances,  as  in  these  rules.    Still  more  rarely  hracketc 
indicate  a  parenthesis  within  a  parenthesis,  [(  )]. 

Principles  of  Punctuation,  —  But  most  of  the  rules  of 
punctuation,  and  all  its  difficulties,  arise  from  considera- 
tions of  sentence-form.  Without  understanding  clearly  the 
relations  of  his  sentence  no  one  can  punctuate  it  correctly. 
No  one  can  punctuate  with  his  hand  until  he  has  punctuated 
with  his  head.  No  one  can  make  a  sentence  clear  to  a 
reader  until  he  comprehends  it  clearly  himself.  On  the 
other  hand,  considerations  of  sentence-form  will  reduce 
many  rules  of  punctuation  to  a  few  groups.  In  general, 
then,  aside  from  the  conventional  rules  above,  punctua- 
tion is  governed  by  sentence-structure.  Its  function  is  to 
indicate  syntax. 

(5)  The  period  is  used  to  distinguish  sentences  from  clauses. 
A  period  must  stand  at  the  end  of  every  sentence.  No 
one  can  misunderstand  that  rule;  but  any  one  may  fail  to 
apply  it  whenever  he  has  written  so  loosely  as  to  leave 
some  statement  doubtful  in  form,  neither  clearly  a  sentence 
nor  clearly  a  clause.  If  it  is  a  clause,  the  placing  of  a  period 
after  it  will  not  make  it  a  sentence;  if  it  is  a  sentence,  the 
placing  of  a  comma  after  it  will  riot  make  it  a  clause.  But 
mispunctuation  either  way  may  confuse  a  reader.  First 
revise  the  form  of  the  statement  till  it  is  clearly  one  or  the 
other;  then  punctuate  accordingly. 

(6)  The  dash  marks  a  place  where  the  construction  is 
brokenf  either  interrupted  or  left  incomplete.  Therefore  it 
should  be  used  rarely. 

(7)  The  colon,  except  in  conventional  uses  (2),  is  prac- 
tically obsolete.  In  older  prose  it  marked  a  unit  midway 
between  a  sentence  and  a  clause;  in  prose  of  to-day  this 
unit  is  no  longer  generally  recognized. 

(8)  The  semicolon  is  generally  confined  to  separating 
the  parts  of  compound  sentences.     Its  use  being  generally 


SENTENCES  105 

to  indicate  that  the  parts  between  which  it  stands  are  co- 
ordinate, it  hardly  occurs  in  complex  sentences.  But  not 
all  compound  sentences  have  semicolons.  The  semicolon 
is  used  to  separate  parts  which  have  commas  within  them; 
or  conversely,  when  the  parts  of  a  sentence  have  commas 
within  them,  these  parts  have  a  semicolon  between  them. 
This  may  be  called  the  rule  of  the  foot-rule.  In  making  a 
foot-rule,  if  you  mark  the  inches  by  short  lines,  you  must 
mark  the  feet  by  longer  lines.  Else  nobody  can  distinguish 
your  inch-marks  from  your  foot-marks.  The  office  of  the 
semicolon  is  to  distinguish  the  larger  divisions  of  a  sen- 
tence from  the  smaller  divisions,  the  co-ordinate  parts  from 
the  subordinate  parts: 

If  he  has  any  evidence,  let  him  produce  it;  if  not,  let  him  shut 
his  mouth. 

Where  there  are  no  commas  within  the  parts,  a  comma  is 
now  generally  sufficient  between  them;  but  many  good 
writers  still  prefer  a  semicolon  between  the  parts  of  all 
compound  sentences  in  which  the  grammatical  subject  of  the 
second  part  is  different  from  that  of  the  first.  And  the  semi- 
colon is  generally  used  in  those  balanced  compound  sentences 
which  dispense  with  a  conjunction: 

The  power  of  French  literature  is  in  its  prose- writers;  the  power 
of  English  literature  is  in  its  poets. 

Except  in  cases,  like  the  example,  where  the  parts  clearly 
balance  against  each  other  to  express  a  single  idea,  such 
sentences  should  be  avoided.  Otherwise  there  is  danger 
of  m^erely  running  sentences  together  by  using  semicolons 
instead  of  periods. 

(9)  (a)  The  comma,  in  general,  is  omitted  or  inserted 
according  as  a  subordinate  part  is  grammatically  necessary 
or  not.     Omit  the  comma  between  parts  which  are  intended 


106  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

to  be  taken  together  as  one;  insert  the  comma  between 
parts  which  are  not  so  intended. 

(6)  In  particular,  a  relative  clause  is  or  is  not  set  off  by 
a  comma  according  as  it  is  intended  to  be  non-restrictive  or 
restrictive.     Compare  these  two  sentences: 

In  this  climate  there  is  no  opportunity  for  reading,  which  taxes 
the  mind. 

In  this  climate  there  is  no  opportunity  for  reading  which  taxes 
the  mind. 

The  former  means  that  there  is  no  opportunity  for  any 
reading,  since  all  reading  taxes  the  mind;  the  latter,  that 
there  is  no  opportunity  for  that  kind  of  reading  which 
taxes  the  mind,  i.e.,  for  hard  reading.  The  former  sentence 
completes  the  intended  sense  at  reading,  the  following 
clause  being  merely  an  added  explanation;  the  latter  sen- 
tence does  not  complete  the  intended  sense  until  the  end. 
In  the  former  the  which  clause  is  non-restrictive;  in  the  latter, 
restrictive. 

(c)  On  the  same  principle,  commas  set  off  parenthetical 
expressions,  i.e,,  words,  phrases,  or  clauses,  which  are  not 
necessary  to  complete  the  syntax  of  the  sentence: 

This,  my  friends,  is  the  whole  truth.  However  my  opponent 
may  storm,  he  cannot  add  one  relevant  fact.  If  he  brings  up  the 
traction  dispute,  remember  what  he  said  about  that  when  he  was 
not  a  candidate. 

This  passage  shows  that  the  rule  applies  to  adverbial 
clauses  of  condition,  cause,  or  exception  (introduced  by  if, 
because,  unless,  though,  etc.),  but  not  to  clauses  like  the 
last  (when  he  was  not  a  candidate),  which  are  intended  re- 
strictively.  ^ 

A  parenthetical  expression  has  a  comma  after  it,  before 
it,  or  on  each  side,  merely  according  to  whether  it  stands 


SENTENCES  107 

at  the  beginning  of  the  sentence,  at  the  end,  or  in  the 
midst. 

Conventional  Rules  for  Capitals.  —  The  idea  of  capitals 
is  to  make  a  word  or  a  form  clearer. 

1.  Thus  most  languages  distinguish  proper  nouns  from 
common  nouns  {American j  John,  Boston) ;  and  English  also 
distinguishes  proper  adjectives  (Roman,  Asiatic),  The  dis- 
tinction between  democratic  as  applied  generally,  and  Demo- 
cratic as  applied  to  a  particular  party,  is  thus  made  clear. 

2.  Capitals  are  used  for  the  pronoun  /,  the  interjection  0, 
the  days  of  the  week  and  holidays,  the  months  of  the  year 
(but  not  the  seasons) ,  the  words  North,  South,  East,  and  West 
when  they  refer  to  sections  of  a  country,  the  salutation  of 
a  letter  (Dear  Sir,  Gentlemen;  but  My  dear  Sir),  and  the  first 
word  of  the  subscription  (Yours  truly.  Faithfully  yours), 

3.  (a)  A  title  of  respect  or  office  is  capitalized  when  it 
immediately  precedes  the  name  of  a  person:  Mayor  McCleU 
Ian,  Governor  Wadsworth, 

(b)  Similarly  Street,  Mountain,  River,  and  other  such 
common  place-names  are  sometimes  capitalized  when  they 
immediately  precede  or  follow  a  proper  place-name:  Lake 
Erie,  the  Ohio  River,  Mount  Ararat;  but  usage  now  permits 
a  small  letter:  Decatur  street,  Whitney  avenue,  the  Connecticut 
river. 

(c)  Titles  of  hooks  are  usually  written  with  capitals  for 
all  the  important  words,  i.e.,  all  words  except  preposi- 
tions, conjunctions,  etc.,  and  always  for  the  first  word 
(The  Advancement  of  Learning,  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities) ;  but, 
since  titles  are  otherwise  distinguished  by  italics  or  quota- 
tion marks,  there  is  some  tendency  now  to  follow  the  French 
fashion  of  capitalizing  only  the  first  word  (A  college  manual 
of  rhetoric.  The  origin  of  species). 

4.  All  names  of  God  are  written  with  a  capital;  and  this 
usage  is  commonly  extended  to  pronouns.     The  sentence 


108  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

Adversity  should  drive  us  to  Him  thus  makes  its  meaning 
clear.  But  some  writers  follow  the  usage  of  the  King 
James  Bible  and  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  in  writing 
hirrij  etc.,  with  a  small  letter.  Bible  (derived  from  the 
Greek  common  noun  for  book)  is  capitalized  to  distinguish 
it  from  other  books;  but  in  referring  to  several  copies,  as 
in  twenty  hihleSy  a  small  letter  is  used. 

5.  In  order  to  make  the  meter  and  the  stanza  clearer,  a 
capital  begins  each  line  of  poetry. 

The  Single  Principle  of  Capitals.  —  6.  (a)  But  aside  from 
these  conventional  uses  there  is  only  one  rule  for  capitals. 
Begin  with  a  capital  the  first  word  of  every  sentence;  or,  to  put 
it  no  less  usefully,  never  begin  with  a  capital  a  clause  or 
any  other  group  of  words  that  is  not  a  complete  sentence. 
The  capital  at  the  beginning  and  the  period  at  the  end  say 
to  all  readers,  I  mean  this  for  a  sentence;  and  the  twofold 
indication  marks  the  importance,  for  all  writing  and  reading, 
of  recognizing  the  sentence  unit.  No  one  can  go  on  in 
composition  who  does  not  know  whether  the  words  he  has 
written  make  a  sentence  or  only  a  clause. 

(h)  Reporting  another's  words  directly,  i.e.,  as  if  he  were 
speaking,  often  brings  one  sentence  within  another.  In 
this  case  the  sentence  reported  also  begins  with  a  capital: 

The  gentleman's  speech  amounts  to  asking,  Can  we  afford  to 
renominate  a  man  who  has  antagonized  these  powerful  interests? 
and  the  answer  is,  We  cannot  afford  to  nominate  any  one  but  the 
man  who  has  won  the  people  of  this  whole  state. 

Indirect  discourse  (reporting  with  that  or  whether)  dispenses 
with  capitals  by  reducing  the  reported  sentences  to  clauses: 

The  gentleman^s  speech  amounts  to  asking  whether  we  can 
afford  to  .  .  .  and  the  answer  is  that  we  cannot  afford  .  .  . 

(c)  By  exception  following  older  usage,   formal  resolu* 


SENTENCES  109 

tions  consisting  of  a  series  of  clauses  begin  each  clause  with 
a  capital,  and  also  each  whereas  and  resolved  introducing  it: 

WhereaSj  This  council  has  heard  with  profound  regret  .  .  .  ;  and 

Whereas  J  The  justice  of  the  demands  formulated  has  not  been 
questioned  .  .  .;  and 

WhereaSy  The  urgency  .  .  .  ;  therefore  be  it 

Resolved,  That  this  council  hereby  declare  .  .  .  ;  and  be  it 
further 

Resolved,  That    .  .  . 

Each  clause  is  also  indented  like  a  paragraph. 

For  the  use  of  capitals  in  abbreviations  see  the  list  of 
abbreviations  in  any  large  dictionary. 

Emphasis  in  Sentence-form:  Putting  the  Right  Word 
at  the  End.  —  The  second  problem  for  revision  is  to  make 
each  sentence  strong  in  support  of  its  neighbors.  This  is  a 
problem,  not  of  grammar,  but  of  rhetoric;  for,  as  the  word 
strong  implies,  it  involves  the  principle  of  emphasis.  As- 
emphasis  is  given  to  a  paragraph  by  giving  prominence  to 
its  main  idea,  so  emphasis  is  given  to  a  sentence  by  giving 
prominence  to  its  main  word.  This  is  felt  most  clearly  in 
speaking.  The  following  sentences  express  each  thought  in 
two  different  forms.  Which  of  the  pair  is  easier  to  stress 
properly  with  the  voice? 

I 

(1)  The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  is  the  lack  of  scenery  in  this 
reproduction  of  the  Elizabethan  stage. 

(2)  The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  this  reproduction  of  the 
Elizabethan  stage  is  the  lack  of  scenery. 

II 

(1)  The  captain's  absolute  power  sometimes  led  to  petty 
tyranny  in  the  old  days  of  sailing  vessels,  according  to  Dana's 
Two  Years  Before  the  Mast. 

(2)  According  to  Dana's  Two  Years  before  the  Mast,  the  cap- 


J 


110  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

tain's  absolute  power  in  the  old  days  of  sailing  vessels  sometimes 
led  to  petty  tyranny. 

Ill 

(1)  The  idea  of  the  Forest  Service  is  to  have  lumbering  econom- 
ically done,  not  to  prevent  lumbering. 

(2)  The  idea  of  the  Forest  Service  is,  not  that  lumbering  should 
be  prevented,  but  that  it  should  be  done  economically. 

In  each  pair  the  second  is  easier  to  speak  because  the 
voice  falls  with  less  effort  on  the  main  word;  for  the  main 
word  stands  at  the  end.  Since  the  voice  naturally  falls  at 
the  end,  since  that  is  the  natural  place  of  stress  and  pause, 
the  best  economy  is  to  put  there  the  word  or  phrase  that 
you  wish  to  emphasize.  If,  instead,  you  leave  at  the  end 
some  less  important  part,  you  cannot  stress  the  word  you 
wish  to  stress  without  slighting  the  close.  The  close  then 
sounds  feeble.  It  does  not  satisfy  the  ear.  Sentence  em- 
phasis means.  Put  the  right  word  at  the  end. 

Ending  with  the  most  Important  Word  of  the  Sentence.  — 
But  which  is  the  "righf  word?  Which  is  the  "main'' 
word?  In  every  sentence,  considered  by  itself,  some  words 
carry  more  of  the  thought  of  the  sentence  than  others.  In 
the  examples  above,  such  words  are:  I.  lack  of  scenery , 
^  II.  tyranny y  III.  economically  done  .  .  .  prevent  The  object 
of  the  sentence  is  to  make  these  words  stand  out  so  con- 
spicuously that  the  hearer  or  reader  cannot  miss  them. 
These,  therefore,  are  the  "right"  words  to  put  at  the  end. 
And  when,  as  in  III.  above,  two  such  words  are  compared 
or  contrasted,  the  revision  of  the  sentence  must  take  care, 
(1)  that  the  contrast  shall  be  brought  out  by  parallel  form, 
and  (2)  that  the  more  important  of  the  two  shall  come  last. 
In  a  word,  end  the  sentence  with  its  point.  The  point  of 
I.  is  lack  of  scenery.  To  put  the  phrase  in  this  reproductionf 
etc.,  after  it  is  to  defeat  emphasis  in  speaking  or  ease  in 


SENTENCES  111 

reading,  to  deceive  the  ear  or  the  eye.  The  point  of  II.  is 
tyranny.  To  hide  it  in  the  middle  is  to  make  the  whole 
sentence  lag.  The  point  of  III.  is  done  economically.  First, 
the  two  contrasted  ideas,  prevented  and  done  economically, 
are  made  parallel  in  form  in  order  to  bring  out  the  contrast 
(see  page  120);  secondly,  the  negative  one  is  put  first  in 
order  to  end  the  sentence  positively.  The  right  word,  then, 
to  put  at  the  end  of  the  sentence  is  the  word  that  carries  the 
main  thought  or  point. 

Emphasis  Defeated  by  Redundancy,  —  Sentence  emphasis 
is  often  defeated  by  a  superfluous  addition. 

So  with  trees ;  their  needs  are  different  according  to  the  different 
varieties  that  we  find. 

The  italicized  clause  adds  nothing  to  the  sense.     It  merely 
blunts  the  end  of  the  sentence,  making  the  voice  hnger  after 
the  point.     Emphasis  is  thus  defeated  by  redundancy.     For 
compactness  and  directness,  the  sentence  should  be  revised' 
to  read: 

So  the  needs  of  trees  differ  according  to  their  varieties. 

The  following  is  another  instance  of  emphasis  defeated  by 
redundancy. 

Even  when  the  game  is  a  very  exciting  one,  the  spectators  may 
find  their  patience  tried  by  waiting  on  account  of  accidents  that 
happen  in  the  course  of  the  game. 

Here  any  one  can  see  that  the  repetition  of  game  is  unneces- 
sary. Repetition  emphasizes;  and  here  it  emphasizes  the 
very  word  of  the  whole  sentence  which  should  not  be 
emphasized.  To  emphasize  the  wrong  word  is  quite  as  bad 
as  not  to  emphasize  the  right  one.  The  remedy  sometimes 
proposed  is  to  avoid  repetition  by  substituting  for  game 
some  synonym  —  say  contest  or  struggle.  But  this  change 
does  not  in  the  least  improve  the  emphasis.     It  does  not 


112  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

even  remove,  but  merely  covers,  the  false  repetition.  In  all 
such  cases  the  remedy  is  to  change,  not  the  word,  but  the 
construction.  In  the  sentence  above  the  revision  is  quite 
simple.  The  whole  final  clause,  like  the  one  in  the  sentence 
preceding,  is  superfluous.  An  accident  is  necessarily  some- 
thing that  happens;  and  of  course  it  happens  in  the  course  of 
the  game.  By  the  omission  of  this  whole  clause  the  sentence 
ends  with  the  right  word,  accidents.  Further,  a  very  exciting 
one  means  no  more  than  very  exciting.  All  such  a  ,  ,  ,  one 
combinations  are  redundant.  Finally,  patience  tried  is  sufl&- 
ciently  implied  by  waiting.    The  revised  form,  then,  would  be : 

Even  a  very  exciting  game  may  weary  the  spectators  by  the 
waits  for  occasional  accidents. 

Redundancy,  therefore,  though  it  may  be  corrected  some- 
times by  omitting  superfluous  words,  demands  in  other 
cases  the  recasting  of  the  whole  sentence. 

In  the  following,  strike  out  superfluous  words  and  revise  re- 
dundant constructions. 

There  are  many  who  will  condemn  your  ruling  as  one  that  is 
influenced  by  fear  of  certain  powerful  interests. 

This  species,  which  is  of  a  deep  red  color,  is  much  more  rarely 
found. 

The  transaction  was  of  a  very  reprehensible  character,  and 
should  be  condemned  at  the  polls. 

After  the  war  was  over,  the  State  found  itself  in  a  poverty- 
stricken  condition. 

There  is  another  thing  which  is  very  significant  in  this  report. 

There  is  a  large  number  of  men  who  keep  the  stores  and  deal 
with  the  lumbermen. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  even  the  most  careful  plans  prove 
themselves  to  be  ill  adapted  to  the  situation  as  it  actually  pre- 
sents itself. 

Though  his  career  was  a  brilliant  one,  many  obstacles  that  he 
found  in  his  way  prevented  it  from  becoming  a  complete  career. 


SENTENCES  113 

Ending  with  the  most  Important  Word  for  the  Paragraph. 

—  But  the  principle  of  ending  positively  with  the  word  or 
phrase  that  carries  the  thought  will  not  always  suffice,  if  a 
sentence  be  regarded  entirely  by  itself. 

(1)  The  marvelous  promptness  of  a  fire  company  is  due  to 
the  precision  of  its  drill. 

(2)  The  precision  of  drill  gives  a  fire  company  marvelous 
promptness. 

Which  form  is  better?  One  sounds  and  looks  as  effective 
as  the  other.  Evidently  the  important  words  are  prompt- 
ness and  precision  of  drill;  hut  which  is  the  more  important? 
No  one  can  decide  from  the  sentence  taken  by  itself.  But 
any  one  can  decide  by  the  relation  of  that  sentence  to  the 
paragraph.  Suppose  that  it  is  the  opening  sentence  of  a 
paragraph,  that  the  paragraph  deals  with  the  fire  drill,  and 
that  the  preceding  paragraph  has  developed  by  instances  a 
fire  company^s  marvelous  promptness.  At  once  the  choice 
falls  on  form  (1) ;  for  this  form  by  putting  promptness  first 
would  link  with  the  preceding  paragraph,  and  by  putting 
drill  last  would  emphasize  the  subject  of  the  present  para- 
gi-aph.  Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  preceding 
paragraph  has  shown  the  precision  of  drill,  and  that  the 
present  paragraph  shows  how  this  results  in  marvelous 
promptness.  At  once,  for  the  same  reasons,  the  choice 
falls  on  (2).  And  sentences  in  the  body  of  the  paragraph 
can  often  be  adjusted  by  the  same  principle:  emphasize  at 
the  end  of  a  sentence  that  part  which  is  most  important  for 
carrying  on  the  thought  of  the  paragraph.  The  "main^'  word 
or  phrase,  the  "  right  ^'  part  to  make  stand  out,  is  that  part 
which  is  most  important  for  the  progress  of  the  paragraph. 

The  revision  of  a  sentence  for  emphasis,  then,  is  deter- 
mined, not  only  by  the  point  of  that  sentence,  but  also  by 
its  relation  to  its  paragraph.  The  object  of  revision  is  to 
9 


114  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

adjust  a  sentence  to  its  context,  to  make  it  fit.  For  some- 
what as  the  emphasis  of  a  paragraph  helps  the  coherence  of 
the  whole  (page  83),  so  the  emphasis  of  a  sentence  may 
help  the  coherence  of  the  paragraph. 

Link  the  following  sentences  more  closely  by  transposing  new 
pair  to  the  beginning  of  the  second  sentence: 

He  was  driven  from  the  quadrangle  of  Christ  Church  by  the 
sneering  looks  which  the  members  of  that  aristocratical  society 
cast  at  the  holes  in  his  shoes.  Some  charitable  person  placed  a 
new  pair  at  his  door;  but  he  spurned  them  away  in  a  fury. 

Compare  the  following  by  reading  them  aloud: 

The  first  cause  of  the  spirit  of  independence  in  the  American  Col- 
onies is  their  English  descent. 

(1) 

First,  the  descendants  of  Englishmen  settled  the  colonies. 
Freedom,  Sir,  was  formerly  adored  in  England,  and  is  still  re- 
spected, I  hope.  The  colonists  emigrated  from  you  when  this 
part  of  your  character  was  most  predominant,  and  they  took  this 
bias  and  direction  the  moment  they  parted  from  your  hand.  Lib- 
erty according  to  English  ideas  and  on  English  principles,  there- 
fore, not  mere  liberty  in  general,  is  the  idea  to  which  they  are 
devoted.  Abstract  liberty  is  not  to  be  found  any  more  than 
any  other  mere  abstractions.  Some  sensible  object  must  be  the 
test  of  liberty,  etc. 

(2) 

First,  the  people  of  the  colonies  are  descendants  of  English- 
men. England,  Sir,  is  a  nation  which  still,  I  hope,  respects,  and 
formerly  adored,  her  freedom.  The  colonists  emigrated  from 
you  when  this  part  of  your  character  was  most  predominant,  and 
they  took  this  bias  and  direction  the  moment  they  parted  from 
your  hands.  They  are  therefore  devoted,  not  only  to  liberty, 
but  to  liberty  according  to  English  ideas  and  on  English  prin- 
ciples. Abstract  liberty,  like  other  mere  abstractions,  is  not  to 
be  found.    Liberty  inheres  in  some  sensible  object,  etc. 

— Burke,  Speech  on  Conciliation  with  America. 


SENTENCES  115 

In  the  first  form  above,  the  difficulty  of  bringing  out  the 
line  of  thought  is  due  to  the  difficulty  of  stressing  the  right 
word,  even  of  knowing  which  word  to  stress;  in  the  second, 
the  form  written  by  Burke,  all  this  difficulty  is  smoothed 
away  by  careful  sentence  emphasis.  The  voice  falls  natu- 
rally on  the  important  words,  because  these  words  stand  at 
the  end.  Yet  hardly  a  word  is  changed  otherwise.  The 
whole  difference  in  paragraph  coherence  is  due  to  sentence 
emphasis. 

Other  Means  of  Adjusting  the  Sentence  to  the  Paragraph.  — 
Thus  the  practice  of  beginning  a  paragraph  with  its  subject, 
linked  to  the  preceding  paragraph  by  repetition  of  an 
important  clause,  and  of  ending  a  paragraph  with  an 
iteration  (pages  84-91),  to  be  taken  up  in  turn  as  the  link 
of  the  next  paragraph,  —  all  this  may  be  appUed  also  to 
sentences.  But  it  should  be  applied  to  sentences  less 
strictly.  It  is  useful  sometimes,  not  always.  For  there  is 
no  need  of  linking  every  sentence  as  we  Unk  every  para- 
graph. Not  every  sentence  carries  the  thought  forward. 
Some  must  give  pause  for  iteration;  some  must  bring  in 
instances  or  illustrations.  Otherwise  we  should  go  ahead 
too  fast.  Otherwise  speaking  and  writing  would  be  reduced 
to  mere  argumentative  outhne,  dry  bones  without  meat. 
Now  these  frequent  sentences  of  instance,  illustration,  or 
iteration  often  need  no  link  at  all.  Their  connection  is 
plain  enough  without.  And  the  link,  even  when  one  is 
desirable,  need  not  always  be  a  link  of  repetition.  It 
may  be  simply  a  conjunction  (but^  nevertheless^  besides, 
etc.)  or  a  demonstrative  (here,  there,  thus,  this,  those,  etc.). 
Care  in  the  choice  of  such  link-words  is  an  important 
part  of  precision.  To  attempt  Hnking  by  repetition  of 
an  emphatic  close  in  all  cases  would  make  composition 
mechanical  and  tiresome,  or  even  impossible. 

In  the  following  passage,  the  linking  of  sentences  through 


116 


CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 


the  repetition  of  an  emphatic  close  is  indicated,  wherever  it 
occurs,  by  itahcizing  both  the  close  of  the  preceding  sen- 
tence and  the  opening  of  the  following  one. 


Dr,  Johnson  in  his  latter  days  became  above  all  a  talker. 


1st  sentence,  link  with  pre- 
ceding paragraph. 

2d  sentence,  linked  to  first 
by  repetition. 


3d  sentence,  iteration  of  2d, 
without  link. 

4th  sentence,  instances  with- 
out link. 


5th  sentence,  introducing 
new  aspect. 

6th  sentence,  linked  to  5th 
by  repetition. 


7th  sentence,  iteration  of  6th 
without  link. 

8th  sentence,  instances  with- 
out link.  . 


But,  though  his  pen  was  now 
idle,  his  tongue  was  active.  The 
influence  exercised  by  his  con- 
versation, directly  upon  those 
with  whom  he  lived,  and  in- 
directly on  the  whole  literary 
world,  was  altogether  without 
a  parallel.  His  colloquial  tal- 
ents were  indeed  of  the  highest 
order.  He  had  strong  sense, 
quick  discernment,  wit,  hu- 
mour, immense  knowledge  of  lit- 
erature and  of  life,  and  an 
infinite  store  of  curious  anec- 
dotes. As  respected  style,  he 
spoke  far  better  than  he  wrote. 
Every  sentence  which  dropped 
from  his  lips  was  as  correct  in 
structure  as  the  most  nicely 
balanced  period  of  the  ''Ram- 
bler '';  but  in  his  talk  there  were 
no  pompous  triads,  and  little 
more  than  a  fair  proportion 
of  words  in  -osity  and  -ation. 
All  was  simplicity,  ease,  and 
vigour.  He  uttered  his  short, 
weighty,  and  pointed  sentences 
with  a  power  of  voice  and  a 
justness  and  energy  of  empha- 
sis of  which  the  effect  was 
rather    increased    than    dimin- 


SENTENCES 


117 


9th    sentence,    new    aspect, 
linked  by  conjunction  nor. 


10th  sentence,  linked  to  9th 
by  repetition. 


11th  sentence,  linked  to  10th 
by  repetition. 


ished  by  the  rollings  of  his 
huge  form,  and  by  the  asthmatic 
gaspings  and  puffings  in  which 
the  peals  of  his  eloquence  gen- 
erally ended.  Nor  did  the  lazi- 
ness which  made  him  unwilling 
to  sit  down  to  a  desk  prevent 
him  from  giving  instruction  or 
entertainment  orally.  To  dis- 
cuss questions  of  taste,  of 
learning,  of  casuistry,  in  lan- 
guage so  exact  and  so  forcible 
that  it  might  have  been  printed 
without  the  alteration  of  a 
word,  was  to  him  no  exertion, 
but  a  pleasure.  He  loved,  as 
he  said,  to  fold  his  legs  and 
have  his  talk  out,  etc. 
—  Macaulay,  Life  of  Samuel 
Johnson. 


Macaulay  is  usually  quite  careless  of  these  means  of  paragraph 
coherence.  Sometimes  his  paragraphs  are  quite  abrupt,  the  sen- 
tences standing  almost  detached,  save  for  an  occasional  and  or 
hut;  sometimes  the  connection  is  managed  entirely  by  sentence 
emphasis.  In  the  passage  above  an  emphatic  close  is  repeated  as 
a  link  for  the  next  sentence  only  when  such  linking  seems  im- 
portant ;  and  the  repetition  is  rather  the  taking  up  of  the  same  idea 
in  other  words.  Burke  repeats  the  very  word,  and  in  general 
repeats  oftener,  because  his  composition  proceeds  more  logically. 
For  this  device  is  more  useful  in  argument,  and  most  useful  in  argu- 
ment that  is  spoken.  In  written  essays,  though  it  is  often  of  great 
service,  it  is  not  generally  so  important. 

Point  out  explicit  transitions  in  the  following: 

(a)  This  country  superintends  and  controls  their  trade  and  navi- 
gation; but  they  tax  themselves.  And  this  distinction  between 
external  and  internal  control  is  sacred  and  insurmountable;  it  is 


118  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

involved  in  the  abstract  nature  of  things.  Property  is  private, 
individual,  absolute.  Trade  is  an  extended  and  complicated 
consideration;  it  reaches  as  far  as  ships  can  sail  or  winds  can  blow; 
it  is  a  great  and  various  machine.  To  regulate  the  numberless 
movements  of  its  several  parts,  and  combine  them  into  effect  for 
the  good  of  the  whole,  requires  the  superintending  wisdom  and 
energy  of  the  supreme  power  in  the  empire.  But  this  supreme 
power  has  no  effect  toward  internal  taxation ;  for  it  does  not  exist 
in  that  relation ;  there  is  no  such  thing,  no  such  idea  in  this  Consti- 
tution, as  a  supreme  power  operating  upon  property.  Let  this 
distinction  then  remain  forever  ascertained;  taxation  is  theirs, 
commercial  regulation  is  ours.  As  an  American,  I  would  recognize 
to  England  her  supreme  right  of  regulating  commerce  and  navi- 
gation; as  an  Englishman  by  birth  and  principle,  I  recognize  to 
the  Americans  their  supreme,  unalienable  right  in  their  property, 
a  right  which  they  are  justified  in  the  defense  of  to  the  last 

—  Lord  Chatham,  An  Address  to  his  Majesty 
for  the  Immediate  Removal  of  the  Troops  from  Boston. 

(h)  Do  you  ask  me,  then,  what  is  this  Puritan  principle?  Do 
you  ask  me  whether  it  is  as  good  for  to-day  as  for  yesterday; 
whether  it  is  good  for  every  national  emergency;  whether  it  is 
good  for  the  situation  of  this  hour?  I  think  we  need  neither 
doubt  nor  fear.  The  Puritan  principle  in  its  essence  is  simply 
individual  freedom.  From  that  spring  religious  liberty  and  polit- 
ical equality.  The  free  State,  the  free  Church,  the  free  School 
—  these  are  the  triple  armor  of  American  nationality,  of  American 
security.  But  the  Pilgrims,  while  they  have  stood  above  all  men 
for  their  idea  of  liberty,  have  always  asserted  liberty  under  law 
and  never  separated  it  from  law.  John  Robinson,  in  the  letter 
that  he  wrote  the  Pilgrims  when  they  sailed,  said  these  words, 
that  well,  sir,  might  be  written  in  gold  around  the  cornice  of  that 
future  banqueting-hall  to  which  you  have  alluded,  ^^You  know 
that  the  image  of  the  Lord's  dignity  and  authority  which  the 
magistry  beareth\is  honorable  in  how  mean  person  soever."  This 
is  the  Puritan  principle.  Those  men  stood  for  liberty  under  the 
law.    They  had  tossed  long  upon  a  wintry  sea.    Their  minds  were 


SENTENCES  119 

full  of  images  derived  from  their  voyage.  They  knew  that  the 
will  of  the  people  alone  is  but  a  gale  smiting  a  rudderless  and 
sailless  ship,  and  hurling  it,  a  mass  of  wreck,  upon  the  rocks. 
But  the  will  of  the  people  subject  to  law  is  the  same  gale  filling 
the  trim  canvas  of  a  ship  that  minds  the  helm,  bearing  it  over 
yawning  and  awful  abysses  of  ocean  safely  to  port. 

—  George  William  Curtis,  The  Puritan  Principle. 

Examine  in  this  aspect  also  other  passages  quoted  in  this  chap- 
ter and  in  Chapter  i. 

And;  Other  Conjunctions,  —  We  sometimes  hear  that  and 
should  not  be  used  to  begin  a  sentence.  Though  this  can- 
not be  urged  as  a  rule  of  correctness,  it  is  on  the  whole 
good  advice.  Only  the  real  offender  is  not  the  and;  it  is 
the  construction.  Good  writers  use  and  at  the  beginning 
of  a  sentence;  but  they  use  it  seldom,  because  of  the  con- 
nection between  their  sentences  is  usually  more  definite. 
If  sentence  follows  sentence  at  any  length  with  no  more 
definite  relation  than  can  be  expressed  by  andy  the  thought 
must  be  loose  or  the  composition  hasty.  Use  and  only 
when  you  mean  and;  and  see  that  you  do  not  mean  it  too 
often.  A  further  objection  is  that  no  one  can  use  and 
often  to  begin  a  sentence  without  confusing  the  distinction 
between  a  sentence  and  a  clause.  There  will  be  no  marked 
difference  between  what  he  writes  as  separate  sentences 
and  what  he  writes  as  co-ordinate  clauses.  For  the  sake 
of  clear  thinking,  therefore,  first  see  whether  the  anc^-sen- 
tence  should  not  be  a  clause;  secondly,  if  you  mean  it  for 
a  sentence,  see  whether  it  should  not  have  a  more  precise 
connective. 

Explain,  with  instances,  the  relations  expressed  by  the  follow- 
ing conjunctions  as  used  to  introduce  sentences:  thuSy  alsOy  nor, 
then,  well,  yet,  hence,  moreover,  nevertheless,  so,  therefore,  further, 
though,  besides,  likewise,  now,  else,  but,  accordingly,  still,  however. 
Arrange  them  in  groups  according  to  similarity  of  use. 


120  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

However  and  also  are  seldom  used  by  good  writers  to  begin  a 
sentence.    They  stand  within : 

Others,  also,  came  to  his  assistance. 

In  that  county,  however,  party  feeUng  ran  so  high  that,  etc. 
Which  of  the  other  conjunctions  above  may  also  stand  within? 

Sentence-forms  Generally  Emphatic.  —  Balanced  Sentences. 
—  Though  sentence  emphasis  is  best  secured  in  each  case 
by  revising  the  sentence  to  fit  that  particular  place,  this 
revision  will  show  that  two  sentence-forms  are  emphatic  gen- 
erally. These  two  forms  are  recognized,  therefore,  by  tech- 
nical names:  (1)  the  balance,  or  balanced  sentence;  (2)  the 
period,  or  periodic  sentence.  The  balance  is  very  commonly 
an  emphatic  form  for  compound  sentences.  As  its  name 
implies,  it  is  a  compound  sentence  whose  parts  are  made 
alike  in  form. 

(1)  In  the  ordinary  high  school  a  boy  gets  all  his  education 
with  his  head;  but  in  the  manual-training  high  school  his  hands 
also  come  into  play. 

(2)  In  the  ordinary  high  school  a  boy  gets  all  his  education 
with  his  head ;  but  in  the  manual-training  high  school  he  gets  part 
of  it  with  his  hands. 

The  second  form  is  plainly  the  more  emphatic.  Indeed, 
the  first  shows  its  weakness  as  soon  as  it  is  spoken.  In 
attempting  to  stress  hands  one  has  to  slur  the  end  of  the 
sentence.  But  why  stress  hands?  Evidently  because  it  is 
contrasted  with  head.  The  contrast  in  thought  is  most 
easily  brought  out  by  a  likeness  in  form,  i.e.,  by  a  balance. 

(1)  The  United  States  has  prospered  during  a  long  period  of 
protection;  but  under  free  trade  the  same  period  in  England  has 
been  one  of  prosperity. 

(2)  The  United  States  has  prospered  during  a  long  period  of 
protection;  but  England  has  prospered  during  the  same  period 
with  free  trade. 


SENTENCES  121 

Here  the  emphasis  desired  to  bring  out  the  parallel  between 
protection  and  free  trade  is  defeated  in  (1)  by  placing  these 
main  words  in  different  positions,  and  gained  in  (2)  by  pla- 
cing them  in  the  same  position.  A  compound  sentence  of 
comparison  or  contrast  is  usually  made  emphatic  by  balance. 

The  memory  of  other  authors  is  kept  alive  by  their  works;  but 
the  memory  of  Johnson  keeps  many  of  his  works  alive. 

— Macaulay,  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson. 

This  is  simply  a  wider  appHcation  of  the  rule  for  correla- 
tives. It  applies  to  the  whole  sentence  what  we  have  all 
learned  about  parallel  parts. 

(1)  They  succeeded  neither  by  land  nor  sea. 

(2)  They  succeeded  neither  by  land  nor  by  sea. 

(1)  A  countenance  more  in  sorrow  than  anger. 

(2)  '*A  countenance  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger." 

(1)  Either  he  attempted  too  much  or  chose  incapable  officers. 

(2)  He  either  attempted  too  much  or  chose  incapable  officers. 

(1)  He  both  amazed  his  native  town  by  his  theories  and  his 
practices. 

(2)  He  amazed  his  native  town  both  by  his  theories  and  by 
his  practices. 

In  alLthese  cases  the  second  form  is  the  one  that  we  expect. 
Most  of  us  are  fond  enough  of  balance  to  feel  in  the  first 
form  something  lacking  or  something  crooked.  When  a 
speaker  or  writer  sets  out  to  express  a  parallel  we  expect 
him  to  express  it  exactly.  If  he  leaves  it  not  quite  ship- 
shape, we  are  annoyed.  Therefore  it  is  a  rule,  almost  as 
binding  as  a  rule  of  syntax,  that  correlative  phrases  and 
clauses  shall  be  exactly  alike  in  form.  The  same  principle 
may  be  applied  to  a  whole  compound  sentence;  but  this 
appHcation  is  less  binding.  Here  it  is  no  longer  a  rule  of 
correctness,  but  a  useful  means  of  emphasis.     As  applied  to 


122  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

a  whole  sentence,  it  is  often  advantageous;  as  applied  to 
minor  parts,  it  is  necessary. 

Periodic  Sentences.  —  The  period,  or  periodic  sentence,  is 
very  commonly  an  emphatic  form  for  complex  sentences. 
In  general,  a  periodic  sentence  follows  the  principle  of 
emphasis  by  putting  the  main  clause  last.  It  puts  first  all 
the  subordinate  clauses,  all  the  conditions,  exceptions,  or 
other  modifiers  of  its  main  idea,  in  order  to  end  with  the 
point.  Thus  a  period  is  a  sentence  suspended  up  to  its 
close.  Instead  of  making  an  assertion  and  then  modifying 
it,  the  periodic  sentence  makes  no  assertion  at  all  until  all 
the  modifiers  are  in.  It  is  a  sentence  left  incomplete  up  to 
its  period.  It  does  not  end  until  the  last  word.  A  period, 
then,  is  a  sentence  so  formed  that  up  to  its  last  word  its 
syntax  is  incomplete. 

(1.  unperiodic)  We  shall  be  swamped  if  we  attempt  those 
rapids  with  our  canoe  so  heavily  laden. 

(2.  periodic)  If  we  attempt  those  rapids  with  our  canoe  so 
heavily  laden,  we  shall  be  swamped. 

(1.  unperiodic)  We  may  as  well  signal  the  boat,  since  we  have 
missed  that  train. 

(2.  periodic)  Since  we  have  missed  that  train,  we  may  as  well 
signal  the  boat. 

(1.  unperiodic)  He  advanced  very  near  under  cover  of  the 
dense  forest,  so  that  the  enemy  had  no  escape. 

(2.  periodic)  He  advanced  so  near  under  cover  of  the  dense 
forest  that  the  enemy  had  no  escape. 

Sometimes  in  an  oratorical  summary  the  period  holds  the 
syntax  in  suspense  at  considerable  length. 

If,  then,  the  removal  of  this  spirit  of  American  liberty  be  for 
the  greater  part,  or  rather  entirely,  impracticable;  if  the  ideas  of 
criminal  process  be  Inapplicable,  or,  if  applicable,  are  in  the  high- 
est degree  inexpedient;  what  way  yet  remains? 

— Burke,  On  Condliaiion  with  America. 


SENTENCES  123 

And  yet  he,  who  was  generally  the  haughtiest  and  most  irritable 
of  mankind,  who  was  but  too  prompt  to  resent  anything  which 
looked  like  a  slight  on  the  part  of  a  purse-proud  bookseller  or  of  a 
noble  and  powerful  patron,  bore  patiently  from  mendicants,  who, 
but  for  his  bounty,  must  have  gone  to  the  workhouse,  insults 
more  provoking  than  those  for  which  he  had  knocked  down 
Osborne  and  bidden  defiance  to  Chesterfield. 

— Macaulay,  Sarrmel  Johnson, 

But  the  main  use  of  the  periodic  form  is  in  such  shorter 
sentences  as  the  following,  from  the  same  essay  of  Macaulay: 

Being  frequently  under  the  necessity  of  wearing  shabby  coats 
and  dirty  shirts,  he  became  a  confirmed  sloven.  Being  often  very 
hungry  when  he  sat  down  to  his  meals,  he  contracted  a  habit  of 
eating  with  ravenous  greediness. 

The  periodic  form  is  naturally  adapted  to  such  sentences  of 
result.  Though  in  conversation  we  might  say.  He  was  overtired, 
so  that  he  took  cold;  in  writing  we  should  revise  to  the  more  pre- 
cise form.  He  was  so  overtired  that  he  took  cold.  The  two  are  alike 
brief;  but  what  the  former  gives  in  two  pieces  the  latter  gives  in 
one.  The  same  is  true  for  concessive  clauses  and,  to  a  lesser 
degree,  for  other  subordinate  clauses,  in  short  complex  sentences. 
Emphasis  is  usually  served  by  putting  first  the  if-  or  though-  or 
since-clsiuse.  But  the  main  consideration  is  always,  not  to  write 
a  certain  pattern  of  sentence,  but  to  bring  out  the  right  word. 
Where  the  emphasis,  as  sometimes  happens,  should  fall  on  the 
subordinate  clause,  the  periodic  form  would  be  false. 

Make  the  following  sentences  periodic.  The  idea  is  not,  of 
course,  to  improve  them,  but  merely  to  study  the  form: 

It  was  after  the  hour  of  the  table  d'hote j  so  that  I  was  obliged  to 
make  a  solitary  supper  from  the  relics  of  the  ampler  board.  The 
weather  was  chilly;  I  was  seated  alone  in  one  end  of  a  great  gloomy 
dining-room,  and,  my  repast  being  over,  I  had  the  prospect  before 
me  of  a  long  dull  evening,  without  any  visible  means  of  enlivening 
it.  I  summoned  mine  host,  and  requested  something  to  read;  and 
he  brought  me  the  whole  literary  stock  of  his  household,  a  Dutch 


124  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

family  Bible,  an  almanac  in  the  same  language,  and  a  number  of 
old  Paris  newspapers.  —Irving,  The  Sketch  Book, 

Make  or  quote  two  balanced  sentences. 

Analyze  a  connected  passage  of  some  length,  assigned  from  the 
quotations  in  this  book  or  from  some  author  currently  studied  in 
the  course  of  literature,  to  show  which  sentences  are  periodic, 
which  have  balance,  and  —  what  is  of  much  more  importance  — 
how  the  emphasis  of  each  is  adjusted  to  connect  it  with  the  next 
sentence.  Point  out  also  the  conjunctions,  demonstratives,  or 
repetitions  used  to  enforce  the  connection  of  sentence  with  sen- 
tence.   The  following  may  serve  as  additional  material: 

If  we  know  the  velocity  and  weight  of  any  projectile,  we  can 
calculate  with  ease  the  amount  of  heat  developed  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  its  moving  force.  For  example,  knowing  as  we  do  the  weight 
of  the  earth  and  the  velocity  with  which  it  moves  through  space, 
a  simple  calculation  enables  us  to  state  the  exact  amount  of  heat 
which  would  be  developed,  supposing  the  earth  to  strike  against  a 
target  strong  enough  to  stop  its  motion.  We  could  tell,  for  ex- 
ample, the  number  of  degrees  which  this  amount  of  heat  would 
impart  to  a  globe  of  water  equal  to  the  earth  in  size.  Mayer  and 
Helmholtz  have  made  this  calculation,  and  found  that  the  quan- 
tity of  heat  which  would  be  generated  by  this  colossal  shock  would 
be  quite  sufficient,  not  only  to  fuse  the  entire  earth,  but  to  reduce 
it,  in  great  part,  to  vapor.  Thus,  by  the  simple  stoppage  of  the 
earth  in  its  orbit,  'Hhe  elements''  might  be  caused  ''to  melt  with 
fervent  heat."  The  amount  of  heat  thus  developed  would  be 
equal  to  that  derived  from  the  combustion  of  fourteen  globes  of 
coal,  each  equal  to  the  earth  in  magnitude.  And  if,  after  the  stop- 
page of  its  motion,  the  earth  should  fall  into  the  sun,  as  it  assuredly 
would,  the  amount  of  heat  generated  by  the  blow  would  be  equal 
to  that  developed  by  the  combustion  of  5600  worlds  of  solid  car- 
bon.    — John  Tyndall,  Heat  Considered  as  a  Mode  of  Motion. 

Mr.  President^  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Convention:  If  we 
could  first  know  where  we  are,  and  whither  we  are  tending,  we 
could  better  judge  what  to  do,  and  how  to  do  it.    We  are  now 


SENTENCES  125 

far  into  the  fifth  year  since  a  policy  was  initiated  with  the  avowed 
object,  and  confident  promise,  of  putting  an  end  to  slavery  agita- 
tion. Under  the  operation  of  that  policy,  that  agitation  has  not 
only  not  ceased,  but  has  constantly  augmented.  In  my  opinion, 
it  will  not  cease  until  a  crisis  shall  have  been  reached  and  passed. 
''A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand."  I  believe  this 
government  cannot  endure  permanently  half  slave  and  half  free. 
I  do  not  expect  the  Union  to  be  dissolved ;  I  do  not  expect  the  house 
to  fall ;  but  I  do  expect  it  will  cease  to  be  divided.  It  will  become 
all  one  thing,  or  all  the  other.  Either  the  opponents  of  slavery 
will  arrest  the  further  spread  of  it,  and  place  it  where  the  public 
mind  shall  rest  in  the  belief  that  it  is  in  the  course  of  ultimate 
extinction ;  or  its  advocates  will  push  it  forward,  till  it  shall  become 
alike  lawful  in  all  the  states,  old  as  well  as  new,  North  as  well  as 
South.      — Lincoln,  Opening  of  the  Spring-field  Speechy  1858. 

In  the  last  sentence  above,  notice  first  that  the  periodic 
suspense  is  kept  by  using  correlatives.  Either  keeps  us 
waiting  for  or.  But  this  sentence  is  not  periodic  as  a  whole. 
The  syntax  is  completed  at  the  word  forward.  Then 
another  clause  is  added,  till  .  .  .  states;  then  a  phrase,  old 
as  well  as  new;  and  finally  another  phrase.  North  as  well  as 
South,  Such  adding  of  phrases  and  clauses  often  makes  a 
sentence  weak  by  making  it  trail  through  a  succession  of 
afterthoughts.  But  these  are  not  afterthoughts;  they  are 
part  of  the  first  plan.  Lincoln  meant  from  the  beginning 
to  put  them  there.  Why?  Because  each  addition  enforces 
the  thought,  carries  it  forward,  expands  it,  and  finally 
drives  it  home.  As  the  sentence  goes  on,  it  increases  in 
force.  Such  a  plan  of  increasing  force,  without  suspense, 
is  sometimes  called  climax,  from  the  Greek  word  meaning  a 
ladder.  Climax  is  not  a  distinct  sentence-form;  it  is  merely 
an  application  of  the  general  principle  of  emphasis;  but  it 
exhibits  the  principle  in  an  aspect  worth  formulating:  A 
strong  sentence  goes  uphill;  a  weak  sentence  goes  downhill.   In 


126  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

other  passages  show  which  unperiodic  sentences  have  this 
quaUty  of  cHmax. 

The  modem  modes  of  travelling  cannot  compare  with  the  old 
mail-coach  system  in  grandeur  and  power.  They  boast  of  more 
velocity,  not,  however,  as  a  consciousness,  but  as  a  fact  of  our 
lifeless  knowledge,  resting  upon  alien  evidence;  as,  for  instance, 
because  somebody  says  that  we  have  gone  fifty  miles  in  the  hour, 
though  we  are  far  from  feeling  it  as  a  personal  experience,  or  upon 
the  evidence  of  a  result,  as  that  actually  we  find  ourselves  in  York 
four  hours  after  leaving  London.  Apart  from  such  an  assertion, 
or  such  a  result,  I  myself  am  little  aware  of  the  pace.  But,  seated 
on  the  old  mail-coach,  we  needed  no  evidence  out  of  ourselves  to 
indicate  the  velocity.  On  this  system  the  word  was,  Non  magna 
loquimurf  as  upon  railways,  but  vivimus.  Yes  ^' magna  mvimus^*; 
we  do  not  make  verbal  ostentation  of  our  grandeurs,  we  realise 
our  grandeurs  in  act,  and  in  the  very  experience  of  life.  The  vital 
experience  of  the  glad  animal  sensibilities  made  doubts  impossible 
on  the  question  of  our  speed;  we  heard  our  speed,  we  saw  it,  we 
felt  it  as  a  thrilling;  and  this  speed  was  not  the  product  of  blind, 
insensate  agencies,  that  had  no  sympathy  to  give,  but  was 
incarnated  in  the  fiery  eyeballs  of  the  noblest  amongst  brutes, 
in  his  dilated  nostril,  spasmodic  muscles,  and  thunder-beating 
hoofs.  The  sensibility  of  the  horse,  uttering  itself  in  the  maniac 
light  of  his  eye,  might  be  the  last  vibration  of  such  a  movement ; 
the  glory  of  Salamanca  might  be  the  first.  But  the  intervening 
links  that  connected  them,  that  spread  the  earthquake  of  battle 
into  the  eyeball  of  the  horse,  were  the  heart  of  man  and  its  electric 
thrillings,  kindling  in  the  rapture  of  the  fiery  strife,  and  then 
propagating  its  own  tumults  by  contagious  shouts  and  gestures 
to  the  heart  of  his  servant  the  horse. 

— De  Quincet,  The  English  Mail-Coach, 

3.   REVISION  OF  WORDS 

Good  Habits  in  Words.  —  The  last  consideration  for 
clearness  in  writing  is  the  choice  of  words  —  not  the  last  in 


WORDS  127 

importance,  but  the  last  in  time.  For  at  first  clearness  de- 
pends, not  on  separate  words,  but  on  thought  and  on  form. 
We  fix  our  minds  first  solely  on  what  to  say,  on  the  thought; 
then  on  how  to  say  it,  on  the  form;  finally,  when  this  is 
straight,  when  the  form  is  made  to  correspond  to  the  thought, 
on  the  fitness  of  the  separate  words.  For  if  we  Ungered 
over  each  sentence  and  each  word  at  first,  we  should  so 
interrupt  ourselves  as  to  make  composition  painful  and 
sometimes  to  lose  the  line  of  thought  altogether.  The 
most  practical  way  is  first  to  think,  perhaps  jotting  down 
notes  for  reminders;  then  to  write  from  beginning  to  end 
with  as  few  pauses  as  possible;  then  to  revise  the  order, 
especially  of  sentences,  wherever  there  appears  an  oppor- 
tunity for  clearer  form;  then  finally,  with  the  aid  of  a  dic- 
tionary, to  substitute  for  any  doubtful  or  obscure  words 
others  that  are  more  exact. 

Revision.  —  Revision  in  this  way  so  increases  a  writer's 
grasp  of  expression  that  he  writes  more  and  more  easily 
and  clearly  his  first  draft.  The  revision  of  the  first  theme 
makes  the  revision  of  the  second  easier  and  simpler,  and  so 
on  until  the  writer  has  acquired  a  habit  of  clearness.  This 
applies  especially  to  the  choice  of  words;  for  every  use  of 
the  dictionary  gives  more  exact  knowledge  of  a  word 
already  known,  and  probably  adds  a  new  word.  A  prac- 
tical way  to  gain  clearness  in  the  use  of  words  is  to  revise 
with  a  dictionary. 

Alertness  in  Conversation,  —  For  clearness  in  words  can- 
not be  acquired  without  care.  It  is  gained  by  cultivating 
a  habit.  Now  in  forming  such  a  habit  writing  may  be  much 
helped  by  speaking.  True,  every  one  needs  to  be  more 
careful  of  the  words  that  he  writes  than  of  those  that  he 
speaks;  that  is  expected;  but  it  is  harder  to  become  care- 
ful of  the  words  written  while  one  is  careless  of  the  words 
spoken.     True  again,  we  cannot  often  hesitate  in  speaking 


130  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

For  obeying  the  dictionary  is  merely  conforming  to  the 
general  habit  of  good  writers  and  speakers  everywhere. 
We  obey  the  dictionary  because  we  wish  to  become  familiar 
with  those  verbal  customs  which  are  not  confined  to  any 
locality  or  any  set  of  people,  but  are  recognized  everywhere 
as  good  manners  in  language.  Otherwise,  by  some  singu- 
larity of  speech  we  shall  distract  attention  from  the  matter 
to  the  manner.  We  obey  good  manners  in  language  in 
order  to  widen  our  influence,  in  order  to  be  able  to  address 
any  one  with  some  prospect  of  effectiveness.  Good  manners 
in  language,  like  good  manners  in  eating  or  greeting,  pre- 
possess people  generally  toward  us  by  showing  our  familiarity 
with  the  ways  of  the  wider  world  and  our  wish  to  apply  these 
ways  to  our  audience  as  a  mark  of  courtesy.  No  one  can 
doubt  this  value  of  good  manners,  in  words  or  in  any  other 
form  of  intercourse,  who  has  seen  much  of  the  world. 

Those  who  fear  lest  they  be  thought  to  put  on  airs  if  they 
attempt  to  use  words  more  nicely  than  some  of  their  friends 
should  remember  that  every  one  who  extends  his  influence 
among  his  fellows  has  to  conquer  this  false  shame.  False 
shame  in  intercourse,  while  it  fails  to  recommend  any  one 
long  to  his  own  little  circle,  stunts  his  growth,  hinders  all 
his  attempts  to  appeal  to  a  wider  circle.  It  is  a  poor  com- 
pliment to  his  friends,  and  a  real  harm  to  himself.  Without 
in  the  least  disparaging  those  friends  who  are  afraid  to  say 
anything  different  from  the  random  talk  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, a  young  man  or  woman  may  learn  —  indeed,  must 
learn  for  any  real  success,  better  manners,  manners  more 
generally  accepted.  Of  such  manners  in  words  the  record 
is  the  dictionary.  Good  manners  are  the  manners,  not  of 
some  set,  but  of  all  good  company  in  general.  As  they  can 
never  be  mastefed  in  other  things  by  those  who  have  too 
much  false  shame  to  venture  beyond  any  small  society  in 
which  they  find  themselves,  so  they  can  never  be  mastered 


WORDS  131 

in  language  by  those  who  fear  to  speak  better  than  the 
uneducated  and  the  careless.  The  privilege  of  the  best 
society  for  the  manners  of  language  is  universal.  The 
best  books  are  to  be  had  everywhere;  and  the  dictionary, 
which  is  the  record  of  their  agreement  as  to  spellings,  pro- 
nunciations, and  meanings,  is  open  to  everybody.  To 
limit  oneself  to  the  local  and  passing  usage  of  the  street  is 
to  fly  in  the  face  of  that  old  proverb  which  is  truer  of  words 
than  of  any  other  form  of  intercourse,  ^^  Manners  maketh 
manJ'^ 

True,  the  use  of  words  changes.  Every  living  language 
must  change  in  order  to  grow.  A  language  is  never  fixed 
till  it  is  dead.  Shakespeare  has  many  words  which  the 
growth  of  English  has  cast  off;  he  has  many  more  words  in 
certain  senses  that  are  attached  to  them  no  longer;  he  lacks, 
of  course,  thousands  of  words  that  have  come  into  use  since 
his  time  with  the  new  things  for  which  they  stand,  thou- 
sands of  uses  to  which  his  own  words  have  been  turned  by 
the  necessary  adaptation  of  language  to  new  conditions. 
But  this  constant  change  in  usage  is  too  slow  to  cause  any 
real  difficulty  in  speaking  or  writing  correctly.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  follow  the  dictionary.  In  order  to  record  changes 
in  use  so  soon  as  they  become  wide-spread  among  good 
writers,  the  dictionary  is  always  being  revised.  If  a  use 
that  we  hear  is  not  recorded  in  the  standard  dictionaries 
of  our  decade,  we  may  confidently  assume  that  it  has  not  yet 
become  general.  In  such  cases  the  better  way  is  to  wait; 
for  the  duty  of  the  individual  speaker  or  writer  toward  his 
language  is,  not  to  lead,  but  to  follow.  He  knows  that 
language  changes;  but  he  does  not  try  to  change  it. 

Usage  as  Reputable,  National,  Present.  —  Good  use,  or 
correctness  in  language,  has  been  admirably  defined  by 
Dr.  Campbell  as  (1)  reputable  use,  (2)  national  use,  (3) 
present  use.     Negatively  this  means  that,  for  the  sake  of 


130  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

For  obeying  the  dictionary  is  merely  conforming  to  the 
general  habit  of  good  writers  and  speakers  everywhere. 
We  obey  the  dictionary  because  we  wish  to  become  familiar 
with  those  verbal  customs  which  are  not  confined  to  any 
locality  or  any  set  of  people,  but  are  recognized  everywhere 
as  good  manners  in  language.  Otherwise,  by  some  singu- 
larity of  speech  we  shall  distract  attention  from  the  matter 
to  the  manner.  We  obey  good  manners  in  language  in 
order  to  widen  our  influence,  in  order  to  be  able  to  address 
any  one  with  some  prospect  of  effectiveness.  Good  manners 
in  language,  like  good  manners  in  eating  or  greeting,  pre- 
possess people  generally  toward  us  by  showing  our  familiarity 
with  the  ways  of  the  wider  world  and  our  wish  to  apply  these 
ways  to  our  audience  as  a  mark  of  courtesy.  No  one  can 
doubt  this  value  of  good  manners,  in  words  or  in  any  other 
form  of  intercourse,  who  has  seen  much  of  the  world. 

Those  who  fear  lest  they  be  thought  to  put  on  airs  if  they 
attempt  to  use  words  more  nicely  than  some  of  their  friends 
should  remember  that  every  one  who  extends  his  influence 
among  his  fellows  has  to  conquer  this  false  shame.  False 
shame  in  intercourse,  while  it  fails  to  recommend  any  one 
long  to  his  own  little  circle,  stunts  his  growth,  hinders  all 
his  attempts  to  appeal  to  a  wider  circle.  It  is  a  poor  com- 
pliment to  his  friends,  and  a  real  harm  to  himself.  Without 
in  the  least  disparaging  those  friends  who  are  afraid  to  say 
anything  different  from  the  random  talk  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, a  young  man  or  woman  may  learn  —  indeed,  must 
learn  for  any  real  success,  better  manners,  manners  more 
generally  accepted.  Of  such  manners  in  words  the  record 
is  the  dictionary.  Good  manners  are  the  manners,  not  of 
some  set,  but  of  all  good  company  in  general.  As  they  can 
never  be  mastered  in  other  things  by  those  who  have  too 
much  false  shame  to  venture  beyond  any  small  society  in 
which  they  find  themselves,  so  they  can  never  be  mastered 


WORDS  131 

in  language  by  those  who  fear  to  speak  better  than  the 
uneducated  and  the  careless.  The  privilege  of  the  best 
society  for  the  manners  of  language  is  universal.  The 
best  books  are  to  be  had  everywhere;  and  the  dictionary, 
which  is  the  record  of  their  agreement  as  to  spellings,  pro- 
nunciations, and  meanings,  is  open  to  everybody.  To 
limit  oneself  to  the  local  and  passing  usage  of  the  street  is 
to  fly  in  the  face  of  that  old  proverb  which  is  truer  of  words 
than  of  any  other  form  of  intercourse,  "Manners  maketh 
man,^^ 

True,  the  use  of  words  changes.  Every  living  language 
must  change  in  order  to  grow.  A  language  is  never  fixed 
till  it  is  dead.  Shakespeare  has  many  words  which  the 
growth  of  English  has  cast  off;  he  has  many  more  words  in 
certain  senses  that  are  attached  to  them  no  longer;  he  lacks, 
of  course,  thousands  of  words  that  have  come  into  use  since 
his  time  with  the  new  things  for  which  they  stand,  thou- 
sands of  uses  to  which  his  own  words  have  been  turned  by 
the  necessary  adaptation  of  language  to  new  conditions. 
But  this  constant  change  in  usage  is  too  slow  to  cause  any 
real  difficulty  in  speaking  or  writing  correctly.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  follow  the  dictionary.  In  order  to  record  changes 
in  use  so  soon  as  they  become  wide-spread  among  good 
writers,  the  dictionary  is  always  being  revised.  If  a  use 
that  we  hear  is  not  recorded  in  the  standard  dictionaries 
of  our  decade,  we  may  confidently  assume  that  it  has  not  yet 
become  general.  In  such  cases  the  better  way  is  to  wait; 
for  the  duty  of  the  individual  speaker  or  writer  toward  his 
language  is,  not  to  lead,  but  to  follow.  He  knows  that 
language  changes;  but  he  does  not  try  to  change  it. 

Usage  as  Reputable^  National j  Present.  —  Good  use,  or 
correctness  in  language,  has  been  admirably  defined  by 
Dr.  Campbell  as  (1)  reputable  use^  (2)  national  use,  (3) 
present  use.     Negatively  this  means  that,  for  the  sake  of 


132  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

good  manners,  we  should  not  use  a  word,  or  an  application 
of  a  word,  that  is  (1)  disreputable,  not  used  by  speakers 
and  writers  of  reputation;  or  (2)  local ,  confined  to  some 
section,  trade,  or  profession,  not  used  throughout  the  coun- 
try; or  (3)  either  past  or  future,  not  accepte<l  now.  Dr. 
Campbell  meant  that  a  word,  or  a  use  of  a  word,  to  be  cor- 
rect must  have,  not  one  of  these  marks,  but  all  three.  Pres- 
ent use  may  be  incorrect  because  it  is  disreputable  or  local; 
a  use  once  reputable,  or  somewhere  reputable,  may  be 
incorrect  because  it  is  not  present  or  not  national.  A 
standard  dictionary  contains  all  words  that  are  reputable, 
national,  and  present. 

Slang.  —  Present  use  as  opposed  to  past  use  we  need  not 
discuss;  for  few  of  us  are  tempted  to  use  abandoned  old 
words.  But  what  of  slang?  Plainly  slang,  though  in  a 
certain  peculiar  sense  it  is  present,  is  neither  reputable  nor 
national.  The  most  characteristic  mark  of  slang  is  that  it 
is  usually  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  Further,  it  is 
often  limited  in  territory.  Certain  slang  phrases  common  in 
San  Francisco  may  never  be  heard  in  Chicago.  The  slang 
of  Minneapolis  may  not  reach  New  Orleans.  Slang,  in 
fact,  is  peculiarly  perishable.  It  seldom  covers  much  time 
or  much  space.  But  does  not  slang  sometimes  pass  into 
good  use?  It  does,  and  thereby  ceases  to  be  slang.  First 
it  passes  from  local  use  into  national  use.  Then  it  is  adopted 
by  some  speakers  and  writers  of  reputation,  then  by  many. 
Being  thus  finally  both  reputable  and  national,  it  is  re- 
corded in  the  dictionary.  But  it  is  an  error  to  suppose 
that  such  cases  are  common.  On  the  contrary,  they  are 
very  rare.  People  who  defend  the  use  of  slang  on  this 
ground  are  making  Dr.  CampbelFs  present  read  future.  In 
their  wish  to  be  abreast  of  the  times,  they  are  a  little  ahead; 
and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  nation  as  a  whole  will  not 
adopt  their  recommendation.     People  who  are  really  care- 


WORDS  133 

ful  of  their  words  wait.  Knowing  that  slang  rarely  lives 
long  enough  to  be  recorded  in  the  dictionary,  they  prefer 
words  that  have  proved  themselves  permanently  effective. 

But  slang  is  used  for  a  time,  not  because  a  few  people 
try  to  keep  it  aUve,  but  because  many  people  are  ignorant 
of  true  values  in  words.  It  is  easy  to  fancy  that  slang  has 
more  value  than  it  usually  proves  itself  to  have  in  experience. 
Though  slang  is  used  most  often  from  sheer  carelessness,  it 
is  also  used  deliberately  by  some  people  with  the  idea  of 
being  effective.  That  is  a  sound  motive.  Indeed,  it  is  the 
best  motive  in  all  use  of  words.  At  bottom,  that  is  what 
we  use  words  for.  But  slang,  instead  of  making  speech 
effective,  actually  makes  it  ineffective.  Those  speakers  who 
make  most  use  of  slang  are  most  limited  in  conversation. 
They  may  amuse  a  small  circle  on  the  street  corner  or  at 
school  recess,  in  the  department  store  or  on  the  baseball 
field;  but  so  soon  as  they  step  into  any  company  of  wider 
interests  they  are  tongue-tied.  Like  the  cattle-men  on  the 
plains,  who  in  their  isolated  and  restricted  life  reduce  their 
speech  to  slang  and  oaths,  they  cannot  use  the  wider  lan- 
guage. And  if  this  is  true  of  conversation,  how  much  more 
emphatically  does  it  apply  to  speaking  or  writing  addressed 
to  a  larger  company!  Slang  is  narrowing  and  stunting. 
For  the  sake  of  a  cheap  immediate  effect  upon  a  few 
acquaintances  it  sacrifices  growth  into  a  wider  command 
of  language.  The  question  of  slang,  then,  reduces  itself  to 
this:  are  you  content  to  stay  where  you  are,  or  do  you  wish 
to  widen  your  vocabulary  by  widening  your  life? 

Precision.  —  Clearness  in  words  comes  from  choosing  a 
word  in  good  use  which  fits  the  place.  But  suppose 
the  fitting  word  cannot  be  recalled.  That,  to  be  sure, 
happens  to  us  all  sometimes,  and  to  inexperienced  writers 
very  often;  and  it  opens  a  further  use  of  the  dictionary. 
The  dictionary  is  there,  not  merely  to  indicate  the  spelling, 


134  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

pronunciation  and  use  of  words  that  we  know  already,  but 
also  to  show  us  those  words,  unknown  to  us  or  half  known, 
of  which  we  reahze  the  need  as  progress  in  command  of 
language.  Suppose  you  wish  a  word  to  describe  the  action 
of  a  skilled  workman  who  is  both  quick  and  expert. 

He  works  quickly. 
That  is  only  half  your  idea.  Quick  the  dictionary  explains 
as  follows:  "done  or  occurring  in  a  short  time,  active, 
sprightly,  ready,  swift,  nimble.^'  Of  all  these  evidently  the 
nearest  are  ready  and  nimble.  Which  shall  it  be?  Inves- 
tigate both  in  the  dictionary. 

readyy  prepared,  quick,  prompt,  not  embarrassed,  not  hesitat- 
ing, willing,  disposed,  easy,  expert,  skilful,  etc. 

nimhle,  light  and  quick  in  rAotion,  active,  brisk,  expert,  etc. 

Apparently  the  most  precise  word  of  the  three  for  this 

case  is  nimhUj  each  of  the  others,  quick  and  ready ^  being 

more  general.  ^i         ^      -    ^.^ 

^  He  works  nimbly. 

That  means  that  his  action  is  both  quick  and  expert. 

Synon5mis.  —  This  simple  case  shows  what  to  seek  and 
how  to  find  it.  Seek  the  most  definite  or  precise  word. 
Find  it  by  choosing  among  the  defining  words  given  in  the 
dictionary.  These  defining  words  are  called  synonyms. 
Synonyms  are  words  having  the  same  general  idea,  but 
different  particular  applications.  Every  large  dictionary 
gives  a  list  of  synonyms  as  part  of  the  definition  of  every 
common  word.  Thus  under  quick  I  find  in  my  dictionary,, 
at  the  end  of  the  definition: 

SYN.  Swift,  rapid,  speedy,  expeditious,  ready,  prompt,  active,, 
hasty,  brisk,  nimble^*  agile,  sprightly,  living,  alive,  lively. 

All  those  words  have  the  general  meaning  that  you  wish. 
From  among  them  you  choose  the  one  nearest  to  your  par- 


WORDS  135 

ticular  shade  of  meaning.  Some  you  can  reject  at  once. 
Hasty  is  not  at  all  what  you  mean,  nor  living,  alive,  lively. 
Swift,  rapid,  expeditious,  prompt,  active,  brisk,  all  lack  some- 
thing. "  Nimble;  that  is  the  word  I  was  trying  to  think  of," 
perhaps  you  say;  or  perhaps  you  are  not  sure  till  you  have 
investigated  both  nimble  and  ready.  In  this  choice  you  will 
often  be  helped  by  the  passages  quoted  in  the  dictionary  to 
show  how  the  word  is  used  by  standard  authors.  In  cases 
of  doubt  refer  in  the  library  to  one  of  the  special  books  of 
synonyms,  such  as  Smithes  Synonyms  Discriminated,  Prac- 
tically, then,  clearness  in  words  is  gained  by  choosing  among 
synonyms. 

Such  choosing  results  in  a  habit  of  precision.  That  is 
valuable  for  more  than  writing;  it  is  a  gain  in  one's  whole 
education;  but  writing  is  the  most  direct  means.  And  while 
such  use  of  the  dictionary  sharpens  one's  knowledge  and 
expression,  it  also  widens  them.  While  it  gives  precision, 
it  also  gives  range  of  vocabulary.  Quick  is  a  common  word. 
Did  you  know  that  it  meant  alive?  That  was  its  earliest 
meaning,  and  explains  the  phrases  cut  to  the  quick  and  the 
quick  and  the  dead.  Most  of  its  synonyms  also  are  common 
words;  but  have  you  ever  used  agile f  When  would  you 
use  expeditious?  You  will  find  some  clue  to  either  in  its 
derivation.  So  one  word  leads  to  another;  the  idea  is 
enlarged  by  being  viewed  in  various  aspects;  and  new  words 
start  new  ideas.  In  short,  by  the  pursuit  of  precision  one's 
vocabulary  is  not  merely  sharpened;  it  is  also  enlarged. 
The  vocabulary  of  a  lazy  mind  is  both  vague  and  small. 
An  active  mind,  while  it  sharpens  old  tools,  is  continually 
finding  new  ones. 

For  a  language  is  not  a  set  of  fixed  symbols,  each  corre- 
sponding to  one  thing,  idea,  emotion,  or  action,  and  to  no 
other.  Almost  any  common  idea  is  represented  by  several, 
perhaps  many,  words;  and  of  these  words  some  apply  alsa 


136  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

to  other  ideas.  A  word  once  applied  to  one  idea  has  been 
gradually  extended  to  another;  or  conversely,  a  word  once 
appHed  to  a  whole  class  has  come  to  be  Hmited  to  a  single 
thing.  Again,  an  idea,  as  it  is  developed  in  new  aspects, 
associates  to  itself  other  words.  So  language  grows;  and  so 
our  words  are  not  merely  single  signs  with  no  other  con- 
nection, but  rather  groups  clustering  about  a  central  idea 
of  which  each  emphasizes  some  one  part  or  aspect  more 
than  another.  So  precision  comes  from  choosing  out  of  a 
group  the  word  that  most  nearly  expresses  the  desired 
shade  of  meaning.  , 


QUICK 

READY 

alive 

prepared 

lively 

prompt 

eager 

hasty  • 

nimble 

dexterous 

active 

expert 

brisk 

And  the  constant  overlapping  of  groups,  as  in  the  diagram 
above,  though  at  first  it  increases  the  labor  of  choice,  also 
increases  its  profit.  From  among  the  many  words  that 
surround  an  idea,  that  one  must  be  chosen  which  comes 
nearest  to  the  particular  application  desired;  and  this 
choosing  of  the  right  word  for  the  particular  place  (1)  gives 
the  word  a  new  sharpness  in  the  mind,  (2)  adds  other  words 
to  the  vocabulary,  and  so  (3)  broadens  the  whole  idea. 

The  magnitude  of  the  vocabulary  surrounding  any  com- 
mon general  idea  can  hardly  be  appreciated  without  a  glance 
at  such  works  as  Roget's  Thesaurus  of  English  Words  and 
Phrases  or  March's  Thesaurus  Dictionary  of  the  English 
Language,  Their  object  is,  instead  of  separating  words 
according  to  their  particular  applications,  to  group  them 
according  to  their  general  meanings.  The  following  is 
adapted  from  a  single  entry  in  Roget's  Thesaurus,     Each 


WORDS  137 

column  is  a  group  of  synonyms;  and  the  two  columns  are 
contrasted  by  setting  over  against  each  other  antonyms^  or 
words  generally  opposite  in  meaning.  Thus  choice  is 
helped  by  both  comparison  and  contrast. 

Several  such  studies  should  be  assigned  for  exhibition  and  com- 
parison on  the  blackboard  according  to  the  model  below. 

CONTENT  DISCONTENT 

Nouns  Nouns 
Content,  -ment,  complacency,  Discontent,  dissatisfaction, 
satisfaction,  ease,  heart's  ease,  disappointment,  mortification, 
peace  of  mind,  serenity,  cheerful-  regret,  repining,  vexation,  sore- 
ness, comfort,  resignation,  thank-  ness,  heart-burning,  querulous- 
fulness,  ness,     irritation,      irritability, 

malcontent,  grumbler,  croaker. 

Verbs  Verbs 

Be  content,  etc.  (See  adjectives  Be    discontented,  etc.,  pro- 

and  nouns),  rest  content,  etc.,  let  test,  quarrel  with  one's  bread 

well  alone,  feel  oneself  at  home,  and  butter,  repine,  regret,  fume, 

hug  oneself,  put  a  good  face  on,  make  a  wry  face,  pull  a  long 

take  in  good  part,  put  up  with,  face,  knit  the  brows,  look  black, 

make  the  best  of,  settle  down,  fret,  chafe,  rebel,  sulk,  take  ill 

take     comfort,  —  ease,  —  satis-  or  in  bad  part,  grumble,  croak, 

faction,  make  contented,  etc.,  put  cry  over  spilt  milk,  cause  dis- 

a-t  ease,  set  one's  mind  at  rest,  content,  etc.,  dissatisfy,  disap- 

satisfy,  reconcile,  soothe.  point,  mortify,  put  out,  cut  up, 

vex. 
Adjectives  Adjectives 
Content,  -ed,  satisfied,  compla-  Discontented,  dis-,  un-,  satis- 
cent,  at  ease,  serene,  easy-going,  fied,  etc.,  exacting,  irritable, 
cheerful,  resigned,  snug,  comfort-  repining,  regretful,  sulky,  re- 
able,  in  one's  element,  un-  af-  bellious,  vexed,  sore,  out  of 
flicted,  -vexed,  etc.,  thankful.  sorts,  fretted,  peevish. 

Such  a  list,  though  at  first  sight  discouraging,  should 


138  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

rather  be  stimulating.  It  is  gathered,  not  to  be  learned 
entire,  but  to  be  chosen  from.  No  man's  vocabulary  ever 
included  more  than  a  small  fraction  of  the  dictionary;  but 
every  man's  vocabulary  is  refined  and  enlarged  by  choosing 
among  several  words  the  best  one  for  the  place.  If  two 
simple  antonyms  are  put  on  the  blackboard,  a  class  can 
pretty  quickly  furnish  a  column  under  each,  after  the  pat- 
tern above,  first  nouns,  then  verbs,  then  adjectives,  etc. 
No  single  pupil,  perhaps,  can  furnish  many;  but  many 
minds  may  have  more  words  than  any  single  one.  And 
though  no  one  should  try  to  have  the  same  vocabulary  as 
his  neighbor,  nevertheless  every  one  may  enrich  his  own 
vocabulary  as  he  listens  and  reads.  If  you  are  alert  for 
new  words  that  suit  you,  and  form  a  habit  of  grouping  them 
in  your  mind,  your  vocabulary  will  grow,  because  you  will 
grow.  For,  after  all,  the  way  to  widen  your  vocabulary  is 
to  widen  your  company,  especially  your  company  of  good 
authors,  to  widen  your  experience  by  a  habit  of  noticing 
and  grouping,  —  in  a  word,  to  widen  your  hfe. 

Prepare  oral  explanations  of  some  of  the  following  (the  topics 
in  Chapter  i.  are  also  available  here).  Sum  up  the  most  important 
points  in  the  last  sentence.  Write  the  whole  out  afterwards 
with  especial  attention  to  precision  of  words. 

How  to  Build  a  Temporary  Shel-  The  First  Points  of  Sailing. 

ter  for  Camping  in  the  Woods.  Patents. 

How  to  Resuscitate  a  Drowning  How  to  Treat  Sunstroke,  and 

Man.  Why. 

The  Care  of  a  Wood  Lot.  Staff  Officers  and  Line  Officers. 

A  Company  Store.  The  Telegraph  as  Part  of  the 
How  to  Enjoy  Summer  in  the  City.  Postal  System. 

Rural  Free  Delivery.  Where  I  Live,  and  Why. 

How    to    Get    on   with    One's  The  Daily  Care  of  the  Body. 

Neighbors.  A  Lumber  Camp. 

How  to  Swim.  A  Protective  Tariff, 


WORDS  139 

Exchange  your  theme,  for  criticism,  with  some  one  who  has 
written  on  the  same  topic. 

Give  an  oral  account,  precise  and  adapted  to  hold  the  interest 
of  the  class,  of  a  significant  newspaper  or  magazine  article.  In- 
stead of  merely  reducing  the  article  to  fewer  words  by  a  dry  simi- 
mary,  present  it  entirely  afresh,  selecting  what  strikes  you  as  most 
important  and  interesting  to  your  audience,  and  putting  it  in  such 
words  as  will  make  it  significant  to  them. 

Definition.  —  Direct  practice  in  precision  may  be  had 
from  the  framing  of  definitions.  Definition  of  one  kind  is 
implied  in  the  previous  section  on  synonyms.  We  may 
define  by  telling  which  of  the  group  of  synonyms  surround- 
ing a  word  are  nearest  to  it  in  meaning,  e.g.,  pr elude ,  intro^ 
duction,  preliminary.  But  every  definition  that  aims  to 
make  precise  distinctions  must  answer  two  questions: 
(1)  To  what  class  does  it  belong?  (2)  What  distinguishes 
it  from  others  of  this  class?  Such  a  definition  gives  both 
the  class  and  the  distinguishing  marks  of  the  individual, 
both  the  general  and  the  particular,  both  the  points  of 
resemblance  and  the  points  of  difference.  To  give  both  in  a 
single  sentence  is  good  practice  in  both  precision  and  con- 
ciseness. ,  .,..,, 

doss,  individual, 

word  defined  general  particular 

resemblances  differences 

An  automobile  is  a  vehicle  with  locomotive  power. 

An  isosceles      is  a  triangle  with  equal  sides. 

The  mayor        is  the  city  official       in  chief. 

The  cabinet      is  the  body  of  federal  officers  advisory  to  the  Presi- 
dent. 

The  two  parts  need  not  be  given  in  this  order.  The  mayor 
is  the  chief  city  official  is  equally  precise  in  the  opposite  order. 
The  class  should  always  be  the  smallest,  the  most  limited, 
possible.     The  mayor  is  a  man  who  —  begins  too  far  away. 


140  CLEARNESS  IN  DETAILS 

Man  is  too  large  a  class-name  for  this  definition.  The  mayor 
is  an  official  —  saves  time  by  directing  thought  at  once  to  a 
more  limited  class  of  mankind.  Still  better  is  city  official. 
It  is  unnecessarily  vague  to  say,  Forestry  is  the  care  of  trees 
or  the  study  of  trees^  when  in  fact  forestry  is  the  science  of 
trees.     Always  find  the  class  nearest  to  the  thing  defined. 

Which  of  the  following  definitions  is  satisfactory?  Revise  the 
others. 

A  policeman  is  one  who  preserves  public  order. 

Elasticity  is  the  power  of  bodies  to  recover  their  form  after 
compression. 

A  cube  is  when  the  sides  are  all  equal. 

Lumber  is  cut  wood. 

A  senator  is  one  who  represents  a  state  in  Congress. 

A  sentence  is  a  complete  statement. 

Humor  is  wit  and  love. 

A  prelude  is  an  introduction  in  music  or  poetry. 

Define  in  a  single  sentence  each  of  the  following:  —  lady, 
superstition,  insect,  cloud,  timber,  kerosene,  tide,  marines,  clause, 
exposition,  wind,  athletics,  corporation,  daisy,  pulley,  turbine,  loyalty. 

Defining  in  a  single  sentence  by  the  class  and  the  earmarks 
of  the  individual,  important  as  it  often  is  for  precision,  is 
rarely  sufficient.  For  instance,  many  people  who  know 
that  an  alderman  is  a  city  official  have  the  vaguest  notion  of 
his  duties.  In  this  case  the  giving  of  the  class  is  superfluous, 
and  the  giving  of  the  distinguishing  particulars  in  a  single 
sentence  very  difficult,  if  not  impossible.  Violin,  again,  — 
almost  any  one  knows  it  is  a  stringed  instrument  played 
with  a  bow.  Really  to  define  it,  one  must  distinguish  it 
from  the  viola,  the  'cello,  etc.  In  other  words,  a  definition 
is  rarely  sufficient  to  explain.  Rather  it  formulates  what 
has  been  explained,  or  is  about  to  be  explained,  giving  the 
whole  in  a  nutshell.  Thus  the  subject  sentence  (page  5) 
may  be  a  definition.     The  development  of  this  by  instances 


WORDS  141 

(page  7)  carries  out  the  statement  of  the  class;  the  develop- 
ment by  contrast  (page  8)  carries  out  the  distinctive  marks 
of  the  individual.  A  definition,  then,  is  really  an  exposition 
summed  up  in  a  sentence. 

SUMMARY  OF  THE  CHAPTER 

Introduction.  —  Paragraphs  are  settled  by  plan  in  advance; 
sentences  and  words,  by  revision. 

1.  The  first  problem  of  revision,  to  make  a  sentence  clear  by 
itself,  is  a  problem  of  unity  and  coherence  in  syntax,  and  demands 
especially  the  turning  of  improper  compound  sentences  into  com- 
plex sentences. 

2.  The  second  problem  of  revision,  to  make  a  sentence  strong 
in  support  of  its  neighbors,  is  solved  by  emphasizing  the  right 
word  at  the  end;  ix.y  (a)  the  word  that  is  most  important  in  the 
thought  of  that  sentence,  (6)  the  word  that  is  most  important  in 
carrying  forward  the  thought  of  the  paragraph.  The  linking  of 
sentence  to  sentence,  thus  prepared  by  careful  sentence  emphasis, 
is  fixed  by  repetition  of  the  emphasized  word,  by  conjunctions,  or 
by  demonstratives. 

3.  Revision  of  words  is  determined  (a)  by  usage,  (6)  by  precision 
in  choosing  among  synonyms. 


CHAPTER  V 

INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

Themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  should  resume  and  extend 
the  practice  of  Chapter  ii,;  hut  they  should  he  so  far  less  frequent 
as  to  provide  for  careful  revision  according  to  the  text  as  a  regular 
assignment.  Another  most  profitahle  exercise  in  choice  of  words 
is  translation  of  short  narrative  and  descriptive  passages  from 
foreign  authors  read  in  the  language  courses  into  spirited  and 
idiomatic  English, 

Interest  in  composition  is  appeal,  not  merely  to  the 
head,  but  also  to  the  heart.  The  means  to  this  appeal  we 
have  seen  to  be,  in  general,  adaptation  to  hearers  or  readers. 
This  principle  of  aptness  we  are  now  ready  to  apply  in  revi- 
sion of  details,  first  to  sentence-form,  then  to  choice  of 
words. 

1.  ADAPTATION  OF  SENTENCE-FORM   BY  SOUND 

Variety.  —  Sentence  emphasis  adapts  the  sentence  to  its 
logical  place  in  the  paragraph.  The  further  adaptation  of 
sentence-form  to  mood  or  feeling  is  discussed  fully  in 
Chapter  ix.  Meantime  it  is  enough  to  indicate  two  points: 
(1)  monotony  is  sameness  of  sentence-form;  (2)  careful 
subordination  and  the  repetition  of  a  key-word  to  mark 
the  connection  belong  rather  to  exposition  and  argument 
than  to  description.  First,  as  to  monotony.  This  is  an 
affair  of  sound,  ^lovement,  or  cadence.  For  instance,  a  long 
succession  of  balanced  sentences  about  equal  in  length  makes 
a  measured  rise  and  fall  of  sound.     Even  to  read  it  from 

142 


SENTENCES  143 

the  printed  page  is  tiresome,  and  to  hear  it  is  to  be  lulled 
toward  drowsiness.  For  sentences  are  made  —  of  ideas,  cer- 
tainly, but  also  of  sounds.  They  affect  our  minds;  but  they 
also  affect  our  ears.  From  its  very  form  the  balanced  sen- 
tence more  readily  becomes  monotonous  than  any  other. 
But  any  sentence-form  may  be  used  so  often  as  to  become 
a  monotonous  habit,  a  tiresome  mannerism.  The  remedy 
is  to  revise  the  form  of  some  sentences,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son than  to  change  the  cadence.  Writers  who  revise  their 
sentences  for  emphasis  and  connection,  according  to  the 
principles  in  the  preceding  sections,  are  likely  to  secure 
variety  incidentally.  But  both  logic  and  variety  will  be 
made  surer  if  the  paragraph  be  read  aloud.  The  famiUar 
criticism,  though  vague  and  simple,  is  practically  useful  in 
telling  us  where  to  revise,  —  "That  does  not  sound  right." 
There  is  no  better  test  of  monotony. 

No  revision  does  more  for  variety  than  the  changing  of  improper 
compound  sentences  to  complex  (page  100).  Another  common 
means  is  the  substitution  of  a  phrase  for  a  clause;  and  this  again 
has  been  already  suggested  as  a  correction  for  redundancy. 

Give  an  instance  of  each  kind  of  adverbial  clause  possible  to  a 
complex  sentence:  of  condition,  manner,  time,  purpose,  result, 
cause,  concession.  Besides  the  subordinating  conjunctions  used 
in  each  case,  give  other  conjunctions  or  conjunctive  phrases  that 
express  the  same  relation.  For  instance,  condition,  expressed  by 
if,  may  also  be  expressed  by  provided,  so  long  as,  unless,  whether 
,  ,  .  or,  supposing  that,  by  the  absolute  construction,  and  by 
inverting  the  usual  order  of  subject  and  predicate. 

In  the  following,  substitute  phrases  for  the  subordinate  clauses: 

While  we  waited  for  the  train,  we  read  all  the  newspapers  that 
we  found  in  the  room. 

If  I  had  one  cool-headed  companion,  I  could  find  out  how  many 
Indians  there  are  among  those  rocks  that  command  the  pass. 

Though  I  have  been  devoted  to  my  party  these  twenty  years, 
I  cannot  stand  with  it  when  it  takes  up  its  present  position. 


144  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

When  you  are  drifting  in  a  canoe  at  night,  it  is  hard  to  tell  where 
the  air  stops  and  the  water  begins,  unless  you  touch  the  water 
with  your  hand. 

Descriptive  Sentences.  —  Descriptive  sentences,  since  they 
appeal  rather  to  feeling  than  to  reason,  cannot  be  revised 
by  mere  logic.  In  description  we  are  not  trying  to  arrange 
ideas;  we  are  trying  to  suggest  images.  Instead  of  a  se- 
quence of  thought,  we  have  a  series  of  sensations.  Natu- 
rally, therefore,  descriptive  sentences  are  far  oftener  short, 
simple,  and  disconnected  than  would  be  feasible  in  exposi- 
tion. Description  naturally  has  fewer  connectives  and 
pays  less  attention  to  sentence  emphasis. 

A  light  shone  through  the  crack.  They  were  there!  Suddenly 
I  struck  the  door.  A  faint  scuffling,  a  silence,  a  faint  scream  in 
the  distance,  two  shots,  and  I  knew  that  Joe's  party  had  trapped 
them  at  the  back. 

The  logical  relations  of  this  would  be  expressed  more  accu- 
rately by  subordination: 

When  I  saw  by  the  light  shining  through  the  crack  that  they 
were  there,  I  struck  the  door  suddenly.  That  they  fled  by  the 
back  way  and  were  trapped  by  Joe's  party  was  indicated  by  .  .  • 
etc. 

But  such  revision,  instead  of  strengthening  the  description, 
actually  weakens  it.  The  object  of  description  is  not  to 
define  logical  relations,  but  to  follow  sensations.  If  the 
action  described  was  rapid,  the  sentences  should  be  short. 
If  it  was  also  hurried  and  confused,  there  should  be  no 
connectives.  If  it  was  measured,  the  sentences  may  be 
balanced.  If  it  was  slow  and  lingering,  the  sentences  may 
lag  more  than  wmild  be  tolerable  in  exposition  or  argument. 
In  short,  the  revision  of  descriptive  sentences  is  occupied 
mainly  with  making  their  movement  sound  more  like  what 


SENTENCES  145 

is  described.     Revision  of  descriptive  sentences  is  revision 
for  sound. 

Compare  the  difference  in  movement  between  the  two 
following.    Each  is  appropriate  to  its  subject. 

The  Swiss  holds  a  paper  through  his  porthole.  The  shifty  usher 
snatches  it  and  returns.  Terms  of  surrender,  Pardon  and  im- 
munity to  all!  Are  they  accepted?  '^Foi  d'officier"  (on  the  word 
of  an  officer),  answer  shall  half -pay  Hulin,  or  half -pay  Elie  — for 
men  do  not  agree  on  it  —  *Hhey  are!''  Sinks  the  drawbridge, 
Usher  Maillard  bolting  it  when  down.  Rushes  in  the  living  deluge. 
The  Bastille  is  fallen!     Victoire!  la  Bastille  est  prise! 

— Carlyle,  The  French  Revolution^  V.  vi. 

Almost  everybody  knows,  in  our  part  of  the  world  at  least,  how 
pleasant  and  soft  the  fall  of  the  land  is  round  about  Plover's  Bar- 
rows farm.  All  above  it  is  strong,  dark  mountain,  spread  with 
heath  and  desolate;  but  near  our  house  the  valleys  cove  and  open 
warmth  and  shelter.  Here  are  trees  and  bright  green  grass,  and 
orchards  full  of  contentment ;  and  a  man  may  scarce  espy  the  brook, 
although  he  hears  it  everywhere.  And  indeed  a  stout  good  piece 
of  it  comes  through  our  farmyard,  and  swells  sometimes  to  a 
rush  of  waves  when  the  clouds  are  on  the  hilltops.  But  all  below, 
where  the  valley  bends,  and  the  Lynn  stream  goes  along  with  it, 
pretty  meadows  slope  their  breast,  and  the  sim  spreads  on  the 
water.  — Blackmore,  Lorna  Doone. 

The  sentence  movement  of  the  description  below  does  not  at 
all  follow  the  sensations  described: 

As  I  walked  down  Broadway,  I  noticed  a  large  crowd  around 
the  Singer  Building,  all  gazing  up  eagerly  into  the  air.  I  followed 
their  eyes  and  saw  that  the  object  of  their  attention  was  a  man 
on  the  top  of  the  Singer  flag-pole,  gilding  the  ball. 

It  was  revised  as  follows: 

I  had  to  look  up  too.    The  whole  crowd  was  looking  up.     Higher, 
higher,  so  high  that  our  necks  ached  to  look  at  him,  a  man  clung 
to  the  Singer  flag-pole.    Floating  in  emptiness  there,  he  was  gild- 
ing the  ball. 
11 


146  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

Similarly  revise  the  following  so  as  to  make  it  accord  with  what 
is  described. 

Fire!  Fire!  People  go  by  in  streams,  while  the  shriek  of  a 
trolley-car  grinding  around  a  curve  contrasts  sharply  with  the 
pounding  of  the  hoofs  on  the  pavement  as  the  horses  pull  the  heavy 
engine  with  its  ceaseless  clang,  leaving  a  line  of  burning  coals  to 
mark  its  trail.  Showers  of  sparks  gleam  in  the  heavy  smoke  for 
an  instant  as  she  goes  by,  followed  by  the  hose  tender,  the  horses' 
hoofs  echoing  more  and  more  faintly. 

Such  revision  tends  also  to  weed  out  descriptive  redun- 
dancies. 

I  heard  the  sound  of  Salvation  Army  music  coming  from  a  little 
group  on  the  corner. 

This  means  simply: 

I  heard  a  little  Salvation  Army  band  on  the  comer;  or 
The  little  Salvation  Army  band  played  on  the  corner. 

In  the  unrevised  form  heard^  sounds  music,  coming ,  —  all 
are  used  to  express  the  same  single  sensation.  For  one 
sensation  try  to  use  one  word.  Though  this  is  not  possible 
always,  it  is  possible  oftener  than  can  be  imagined  without 
some  practice  in  revising  for  descriptive  directness.  It  is 
rarely  necessary  to  insert  /  saw,  I  heard,  came  to  my  ears,  etc. 
What  you  are  describing  you  must  have  seen  or  heard.  You 
may  take  that  for  granted.  But  besides  omitting  mere 
superfluities,  cultivate  the  habit  of  predicating  directly  in 
single  verbs. 

The  brilliant  sunshine  of  the  autumn,  where  it  struck  the  sparse 
leaves,  made  the  foliage  give  forth  a  glint,  and  depicted  the  shadows 
sharply. 

The  two  sensations  here,  light  and  shadow,  can  be  suggested, 
not  only  as  well,  but  much  better,  by  two  simple  verbs. 


WORDS  147 

For  in  the  present  form  the  impression  is  clogged  by  super- 
fluous words. 

The  brilliant  autumn  sunshine  glinted  on  the  sparse  leaves  and 
drew  sharp  shadows. 

The  Isotta  car  was  now  approaching  this  turn  with  leaps  and 
bounds. 

Toward  this  turn  the  Isotta  car  now  leapt  and  bounded. 

Correct  the  following  in  the  same  way: 

A  faint  gleam  of  the  headlight  could  now  be  seen  struggling 
through  the  inky  blackness.  Soon  I  could  hear  the  low  roaring, 
which  changed  to  a  higher  key  as  the  train  came  rolling  across  the 
trestle. 

Far  down  the  street  the  clatter  of  hoofs  reached  my  ears.  A 
second  later  the  sharp  clang  of  the  gong  rang  out  in  quick  and 
regular  strokes. 

Here  and  there  in  the  moonlight  were  the  shadowy  shapes  of 
pumpkins,  on  a  few  of  which  the  pale  rays  played  and  made  them 
take  a  lurid  yellow  tint.  Beyond  the  corn  a  clump  of  trees  gave 
forth  a  mournful  sound  from  their  bare,  rattling  branches. 

A  loud  booming  came  up  from  the  breakers  pounding  on  the 
rocks  below. 

2.   ADAPTATION  OF  WORDS 

Chapter  ii.has  shown  that  interest  depends  very  largely 
on  the  appeal  of  the  specific  and  concrete.  Interest,  then, 
must  be  largely  an  affair  of  the  choice  of  words.  True,  we 
can  hardly  use  concrete  words  unless  we  have  felt  the  sen- 
sations of  sound,  sight,  smell,  color,  for  which  they  stand. 
Thus  the  first  way  to  become  interesting  to  others  is  to 
make  our  own  senses  quick  and  alert  (page  41).  Never- 
theless, interest  depends  much  more  on  the  choice  of  words 
than  clearness  does.  Clearness,  being  an  affair  of  thought,  \ 
depends  rather  on  structure,  on  the  arrangement  of  the 
whole  composition  and  of  its  component  parts.  Interest, 
being  an  affair  of  feeUng,  depends  rather  on  the  choice  of 


148  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

words  that  stir  the  imagination.  It  depends  generally- 
less  on  structure  than  on  style.  This  means  that  certain 
words  appeal  to  feehng  far  more  than  other  words.  The 
word  home  is  more  appeahng  than  dwelling,  residence,  or  dom- 
icile. It  stirs  us  more.  It  gives  us  more  feehng.  To  say 
/  will  hack  you  is  warmer  than  to  say  /  will  support  you. 
Underling  arouses  more  feehng  than  inferior,  hobnob  than 
associate  familiarly,  peevish  than  irritable,  jeer  than  ridicule. 
Some  words,  then,  carry  more  feehng  than  their  synonyms; 
and  we  give  our  writing  interest  largely  by  choosing  these 
words  of  feehng.  Precision,  or  clearness  in  words,  comes 
from  choosing  among  synonyms  the  word  that  conveys  most 
exactly  your  thought;  interest  comes  from  choosing  the  word 
that  suggests  most  quickly  your  feehng. 

Interest  through  Homely  Words.  —  Why  should  some 
words  carry  more  feehng  than  others?  Because  they  have, 
besides  the  dictionary  meaning  which  they  share  with  less 
interesting  synonyms,  certain  associations.  Home,  for  in- 
stance, besides  its  precise  meaning  in  the  dictionary,  has 
clustered  about  it  in  our  imagination  some  of  the  dearest 
things  of  life.  Naturally,  those  words  which  have  been 
longest  in  the  language  have  gathered  most  of  these  asso- 
ciations. Therefore  homely,  famihar  words  commonly  sug- 
gest more  feehng  than  more  elegant,  less  familiar  words, 
because  they  have  more  associations.  A  less  homely  and  a 
more  homely  word  may  convey  the  same  thought;  paternal 
has  the  same  thought  as  fatherly;  but  the  latter  conveys 
more  feeling,  because  it  has  more  associations.  Father  has 
been  in  the  language  so  long  that  it  is  full  of  associations. 
It  more  quickly  calls  up  a  picture  in  the  imagination. 

We  may  be  as  familiar  and  homely  as  we  choose  without 
slang.  Indeed,  *the  great  objection  to  the  use  of  slang  is 
that  it  hinders  the  gaining  of  a  store  of  words  homely,  but 
not  coarse;  familiar,  but  not  disreputable.     Slang  is  not 


WORDS  149 

really  homely.  It  comes,  not  from  the  home,  but  from 
the  music-hall  and  the  street.  It  is  not  really  familiar; 
for  it  is  known  only  within  a  limited  circle.  What  we  need 
for  interest  is  a  habit,  and  an  increasing  store,  of  words 
really  homely  and  really  familiar  to  everybody  that  has 
command  of  the  English  language.  The  dictionary  con- 
tains such  words  by  the  thousand.  If  more  people  were 
discontented  with  slang,  these  words,  instead  of  being 
neglected,  would  be  used  increasingly,  to  the  heightening 
of  real  interest  in  language.  Here  are  a  few  of  them.  The 
list  might  easily  be  increased  tenfold,  and  will  be  by  those 
who  keep  their  eyes  and  ears  open.  But  for  a  beginning 
underline  each  of  the  following  of  which  you  are  not  sure, 
and  day  by  day  search  out  one  or  two  in  a  large  dictionary. 
By  gradually  learning  to  use  these  in  fit  places  you  will 
tend  to  notice  good  homely  words  and  thus  to  salt  your 
speech. 

Some  Homely  Words  in  Good  Use 

Ail,  antic,  back  (v.),  balk  (v.),  blackmail,  blink,  boor,  brag, 
brawl,  budge,  bungle,  cant  (n.),  chuckle,  churl,  clap,  clinch,  clog, 
clutch,  curt,  daft,  daub,  dawdle,  dock  (v.),  dolt,  drone  (v.),  drub, 
fag  (v.),  fang,  fetch,  flinch,  foist,  fumble,  fume,  fuss,  gabble,  gad, 
gang,  garble,  glib,  glum,  glut,  grub  (v.),  grudge,  gruff,  gulp,  hag, 
haggle,  headstrong,  hearsay,  heave,  hoax,  hobnob,  hodge-podge, 
hoodwink,  huff,  hush-money,  inkling,  jaunty,  jeer,  job,  jog,  jolt, 
kidnap,  knack,  lag,  lank,  leer,  loll,  lout,  lug,  makeshift,  maul, 
mess,  mope,  mumble,  nag  (v.),  new-fangled,  niggardly,  nudge,  odds, 
offset,  outlandish,  pat  (a.),  peevish,  pert,  plod,  prig,  quack,  qualm, 
quash,  quirk,  quit,  ram  (v.),  rank  (a.),  ransack,  rant,  rip,  romp, 
rot,  ruck,  sag,  scare,  scramble,  scrawl,  scribble,  scuffle,  sham,  ship- 
shape, shift,  shirk,  shred,  slam,  slink,  slipshod,  sluggard,  smash, 
smother,  smug,  sneak,  snivel,  snub,  snug,  sop,  spill,"  spurt,  squabble, 
squat,  squeamish,  stuff,  sulk,  tang,  tawdry,  tether,  thrash,  truckle, 
tussle,  twit,  underling,  uproar,  upside-down,  vent,  vixen,  warp, 
whack,  wheedle,  wince,  wrangle. 


150  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

Idioms,  —  Most  homely  of  all  expressions  in  any  language 
are  its  idioms.  An  idiom  is  a  grammatical  construction ,  or 
a  turn  of  meaning,  peculiar  to  the  language  or  family  of  lan- 
guages. Thus  it  is  an  English  idiom  to  say  in  greeting, 
How  are  you?  The  French  idiom  is,  How  do  you  carry 
yourself?  {Comment  vous  portez-vous?)  It  is  an  English 
idiom  to  use  the  phrase  many  a  with  a  singular  noun.  Some 
idioms  seem  ungrammatical,  because  they  are  relics  of 
older  constructions  that  have  passed  out  of  general  use. 
Other  idioms  keep  alive  old,  proverbial  meanings,  giving 
us  pictures  of  the  life  of  our  ancestors.  In  either  case  an 
idiom  is  usually  a  survival.  Its  interest  lies  in  its  being 
familiar  from  its  very  age.  Thus  it  is  the  opposite  of  slang, 
which  is  above  all  new.  An  idiom  has  that  interest  which 
we  feel  when  we  call  English  our  mother  tongue.  Besides, 
idioms  are  usually  interesting  because  they  call  up  pictures. 
By  hook  or  crook  is  a  more  interesting  expression  than  by 
any  means  possible,  because  it  appeals  to  the  imagination. 
Thus  the  use  of  idioms  makes  speech  interesting  by  making 
it  homely  and  picturesque.  In  the  following  lists  underline 
any  idioms  of  which  you  are  not  sure,  and  gradually  acquire 
these  in  the  way  suggested  above.  Some  of  them  contain, 
not  only  a  picture,  but  a  story. 

Some  Idioms  of  Syntax 

(1)  Five  cents  a  {or  the)  pound.  (6)  All  of  a  piece. 

(2)  A  ten-foot  pole.  (7)  The  town  we  live  in. 

(3)  Read  the  first  three  pages.  (8)  I  don't  know  but  you  are 

(4)  That  friend  of  John's.  right. 

(5)  Many  a  great  man  has  be-  (9)  I  had  rather  not. 

gun  poor. 

Some  Idioms  of  Meaning 

(1)  Five  dollars  to  boot  (4)  A  dead  lift. 

(2)  By  hook  or  crook.  (5)  Beside  the  mark. 

(3)  Hand  to  mouth.  (6)  A  chip  of  the  old  block. 


WORDS 


151 


(7)  The  quick  and  the  dead. 

(8)  A  man  of  straw. 

(9)  A  tempest  in  a  teapot. 

(10)  Touch  and  go. 

(11)  Through  thick  and  thin. 

(12)  Not  worth  his  salt. 

(13)  Neither  fish,  flesh,  nor 

fowl. 

(14)  It  stands  to  reason. 

(15)  A  movement  is  on  foot. 

(16)  The  long  and  the  short  of  it. 

(17)  Bom  with  a  silver  spoon  in 

her  mouth. 

(18)  On  tenter-hooks. 

(19)  Penny  wise  and  pound 

foolish. 

(20)  At  odds  over  something. 

(21)  Tit  for  tat. 

(22)  On  hand. 

(23)  Cheek  by  jowl. 

(24)  Head  over  ears  in. 

(25)  All  at  sea. 

(26)  Drive  the  nail  home. 

(27)  Lay  down  the  law. 

(28)  Cap  the  climax. 

(29)  Turn  the  tables. 

(30)  Stand  on  your  own  legs. 

(31)  Read  between  the  lines. 

(32)  Leave  no  stone  unturned. 

(33)  Put  a  flea  in  his  ear. 


(34)  Wash  your  hands  of  that. 

(35)  Take  him  down  a  peg. 

(36)  Peg  away. 

(37)  Hark  back  to  that. 

(38)  To  make  head  against. 

(39)  Make  a  cat's  paw  of. 

(40)  Mince  matters. 

(41)  Knuckle  imder. 

(42)  Break  the  ice. 

(43)  Turn  up  one's  nose  at. 

(44)  Hit  on  a  new  way. 

(45)  Set  one's  teeth  on  edge. 

(46)  Give  an  old  friend  the  cold 

shoulder. 

(47)  Laugh  in  one's  sleeve. 

(48)  Draw  in  one's  horns. 

(49)  Have  him  on  the  hip. 

(50)  Turn  tail. 

(51)  Cast  in  one's  teeth. 

(52)  Set  eyes  on. 

(53)  Show  the  white  feather. 

(54)  Make  him    sing    another 

tune. 

(55)  Hug  the  shore. 

(56)  Pay  the  piper. 

(57)  Have  a  hand  in. 

(58)  Have  a  mind  to. 

(59)  Get  wind  of. 

(60)  Sit  between  two  stools. 


Tell  the  following  familiar  story  orally  in  homely  words,  so  as 
to  make  it  interesting  to  a  club  of  workingmen. 

The  young  cavalier  we  have  so  often  mentioned  (Raleigh)  had 
probably  never  yet  approached  so  near  the  person  of  his  sovereign, 
and  he  pressed  forward  as  far  as  the  line  of  warders  permitted,  in 
order  to  avail  himself  of  the  present  opportunity.    Unbonneting, 


152  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

he  fixed  his  eager  gaze  on  the  Queen's  approach,  with  a  mixture 
of  respectful  curiosity  and  modest  yet  ardent  admiration,  which 
suited  so  well  with  his  fine  features  that  the  warders,  struck  with 
his  rich  attire  and  noble  countenance,  suffered  him  to  approach 
the  ground  over  which  the  Queen  was  to  pass,  somewhat  closer 
than  was  permitted  to  ordinary  spectators.  The  night  had  been 
^ainy,  and  just  where  the  young  gentleman  stood  a  little  pool  of 
muddy  water  interrupted  the  Queen's  passage.  As  she  hesitated 
to  pass  on,  the  gallant,  throwing  his  cloak  from  his  shoulders, 
laid  it  on  the  miry  spot,  so  as  to  insure  her  stepping  over  it  dry- 
shod.  Elizabeth  looked  at  the  young  man,  who  accompanied 
this  act  of  devoted  courtesy  with  a  profound  reverence  and  a  blush 
that  overspread  his  whole  countenance.  The  Queen  was  con- 
fused, and  blushed  in  her  turn,  nodded  her  head,  hastily  passed 
on,  and  embarked  in  her  barge  without  saying  a  word. 

—  Scott,  Kenilworth, 

Besides  the  proverbial  expressions  among  homely  idioms 

there    are    many    proverbial    sentences,    bits    of   practical 

wisdom  handed  down  in  picturesque  language.     Learn  any 

of  the  few  following  that  you  do  not  know,  and  add  others 

as  you  hear  them. 

Proverbs 

A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush. 
Time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man. 
All  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net. 
All  her  geese  are  swans. 

Hedges  have  eyes,  and  little  pitchers  have  ears. 
Let  a  sleeping  dog  lie. 
Nothing  venture,  nothing  have. 
The  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating. 
A  watched  pot  never  boils. 
Tis  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good. 

You  may  lead  yoijr  horse  to  water;  but  you  can't  make  him 
drink. 

Native   Words   and   Foreign   Words.  —  The    difference 


WORDS  153 

among  words  in  suggestion,  or  appeal  to  imagination  and 
emotion,  is  sharper  in  English  than  in  other  languages 
because  of  the  more  composite  character  of  our  language 
and  the  inveterate  habit  of  borrowing  foreign  words. ^ 
Keeping  its  native  Germanic  habit  of  syntax,  English  derived 
from  the  Norman  Conquest  a  great  store  of  French-Latin 
words  and  the  habit  of  forming  words  by  French-Latin 
prefixes  and  sufhxes.  We  have  thus  a  two-fold  vocabulary: 
on  the  one  hand,  many  original  native  words;  on  the  other 
hand,  their  French-Latin  synonyms.  In  the  abundance 
of  synonyms  thus  offered  we  have  a  wide  field  of  choice. 
Though  choice  is  sometimes  made  difficult  by  the  very  em- 
barrassment of  riches,  nevertheless  it  gives  great  opportu- 
nity for  precision.  Each  one  of  a  group  of  synonyms  has 
usually  become  attached  to  some  particular  shade  of  mean- 
ing; and  care  in  determining  this  increases  steadily  one's 
command  of  language.  So  much  for  precision.  For  inter- 
est, generally  that  one  of  a  group  of  synonyms  will  carry 
most  feeling  which  is  homeliest  by  having  been  longest 
in  use.  So  in  general  those  words  have  strongest  associa- 
tions of  feeling  which  have  come  down  to  us  from  Old 
English.  Busy  is  more  forcible  than  occupied  or  engaged, 
dear  than  costly  or  precious,  drink  than  beverage,  fight  than 
conflict  or  contention,  fret  than  irritate,  etc.  But  many 
French  words  passed  so  early  into  common  use  that  they 
are  quite  as  familiar  as  any  Old  English  ones,  and  in  some 
cases  more  familiar  than  their  Old  English  synonyms. 
Rage,  for  instance,  is  as  familiar  to-day  as  the  Old  English 
anger,  and  more  familiar  than  the  Old  English  wrath.  French 
words  like  corpse,  sturdy,  prey,  joy,  jolly,  stupid,  ruin,  chafe, 
curb,  base,  falter,  carry  as  many  associations  of  feeling  as 
any  native  words.     The  point  is  not  so  much  that  the  word 

*  See  some  historical  manual,  e.g.y  Lounsbury's  History  of  the  English 
Langvjoge,  or  Jespersen's  Growth  and  Structure  of  the  English  Language. 


154  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

should  be  native  or  borrowed  as  that  it  should  be  famil- 
iar. 

This  is  clear  in  the  opening  of  Gray^s  Elegy: 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Barring  the  French  word  curfew,  which  was  introduced 
in  the  eleventh  century  with  the  custom  that  it  names, 
every  word  in  this  touching  stanza  is  native,  except  parting 
and  plods.  And  these  borrowed  words  carry  the  same 
simple  feeling  as  the  native  ones,  because  they  are  equally 
familiar.  In  fact,  plods  is  more  familiar  than  the  native 
lea,  which  is  no  longer  used  except  in  poetry.  In  the  fol- 
lowing stanza  the  French-Latin  words  fades,  air,  solemn, 
distant,  have  the  same  effect  as  the  native  words  and  as  the 
two  Scandinavian  words  glimmering  and  lull.  All  are 
-equally  familiar;  all  harmonize  with  the  same  feeUng. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 

In  the  fourth  stanza  every  word  has  an  old  homeliness. 
Cell,  though  Latin,  comes  down  from  the  time  of  the  monks 
who  Christianized  England.  Rude  and  hamlet,  though 
French,  are  as  homely  as  any  native  words.  Perhaps  the 
most  modern  word  in  the  whole  stanza  is  rugged;  and  that 
may  be  a  survival  from  the  raids  of  the  Norsemen. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves?  the  turf  in  many  a  mould 'ring  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


WORDS  165 

Less  homely  words  from  the  Latin  part  of  our  English 
vocabulary  —  and  these  are  an  overwhelming  majority  — 
make  less  appeal  to  feeling. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  French-Latin  joys,  sinvple,  jpoor,  are  as  familiar  as 
any  native  words;  but  ambition,  destiny,  grandeur,  disdain- 
ful, annals,  are  not.  These  make  less  appeal;  they  stir  less 
feeling;  and  in  this  they  are  like  most  of  the  Latin  words 
in  English. 

Interest  through  Specific,  Concrete  Words.  —  Further,  it 
is  plain  that  a  word  stirs  feeling,  not  merely  by  being  homely, 
but  by  being  specific  and  concrete.  General  words  stand 
for  whole  groups,  classes,  or  species;  specific  words  stand 
for  individual  things  or  particular  actions.  Abstract  words 
stand  for  ideas;  concrete  w^ords  stand  for  sensations.  Gen- 
eral and  abstract  words  sum  up  thinking;  specific  and  con- 
crete words  suggest  feeUng. 

General  Specific 

I  flare,  flash,  flicker,  glare,  gleam, 
glimmer,  glitter,  glow,  sheen, 
shimmer,  sparkle,  etc. 

look  (n.  and  V.) jg^^'  glance,  peep,  peer,  scan, 

I     stare,  etc. 

ujQm^ fsob,    whimper,    snivel,    whine, 

\     weep,  cry,  moan,  etc. 

march,     pace,     plod,     saunter, 
^ij^     ^  ^  shuffle,  shamble,  slink,  sneak, 

stagger,    stalk,    stride,    stroll, 
strut,  swagger,  tramp,  etc. 


156  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

Abstract  Concrete 

bounding  under  foot,  smell  of 
salt  breeze,  white  caps  tum- 
bling in  the  blue,  distant  red 
sail,  song  —  **'Twas  Friday 
night,"  etc. 


pleasure  in  sailing 


tedium  , 


yawn,  look  at  the  clock,  drum 
with  fingers,  pace  the  floor, 
stare  out  of  window,  etc. 

These  few  instances  are  enough  to  show  that  an  abstract 
word  is  also  general;  a  concrete  word,  specific.  So  we 
have  really  but  two  classes  of  words  to  contrast:  on  the  one 
hand,  general  and  abstract  words  conveying  thoughts  or 
ideas;  on  the  other  hand,  specific  and  concrete  words  sug~ 
gesting  sensations  and  emotions.  The  contrast  is  shown  on 
page  35.  It  appears  in  the  weaker  appeal  of  the  stanza 
last  quoted  from  Gray's  Elegy,  as  compared  with  the  open- 
ing stanzas.  The  power  of  specific,  concrete  words  to  stir 
sympathetic  feeling,  exhibited  in  all  the  quotations  through- 
out this  chapter,  is  seen  once  more  in  these  earlier  stanzas. 
The  plowman  does  not  go  or  walk;  he  plods.  At  once  we 
sympathize  with  his  weariness  by  seeing  his  action  before 
the  mind's  eye.  So  a  picture  of  twilight  over  the  meadow  is 
called  up  by  that  concrete  word  glimmering.  So  wheels  and 
droning  stir  in  memory  an  image  and  an  echo  of  a  beetle's 
flight.  If  you  try  to  substitute  other  words  for  toll,  knell, 
tinklings,  lull,  heaves,  turf,  cell,  you  will  better  understand 
the  power  of  specific,  concrete  words  to  awaken  sympathy 
by  calling  up  distinct  memories  of  sounds  and  sights.  To 
be  interesting,  then,  speak  in  specific,  concrete  terms. 

For  words  are  interesting  largely  in  proportion  as  they 
rouse  old  associations,  as  they  appeal  to  feeling  through  the 
imagination.     Interesting  words  are  lively  words,  words  full 


WORDS  157 

of  suggestion.  Uninteresting  words  are  words  which,  how- 
ever precise,  suggest  little  or  nothing  to  the  imagination. 
Such  are  abstract,  general  terms  like  argument^  legislation^ 
exigency y  circulate,  extensive.  Most  of  these  come  from  the 
Latin.  They  are  dull,  not  because  they  are  Latin,  but 
because  they  are  general  and  abstract.  Such  words  have 
few  associations.  They  call  up  no  images.  They  are  hm- 
ited  to  a  few  precise  apphcations.  They  are  words  of 
thought,  not  of  feeling.  Just  for  this  reason  they  are  very 
valuable.  We  cannot  do  without  them,  especially  in  ex- 
planation and  argument.  But  in  description  or  story,  and 
whenever  else  we  wish  to  arouse  interest,  we  must  turn  to 
the  specific  and  concrete. 

In  a  descriptive  passage  chosen  from  Irving 's  Sketch  Book  point 
out  which  words  are  of  native  origin  or  of  familiar  homeliness, 
which  are  French-Latin  derivatives  or  less  familiar;  which  are 
concrete,  which  abstract.  Report  in  the  same  way  on  a  descrip- 
tive passage  from  Hawthorne  ^s  House  of  the  Seven  Gables. 

Compare  as  to  the  proportion  of  French-Latin  words  to  native 
words,  and  of  abstract  words  to  concrete,  the  first  six  verses  of 
Psalm  xix.  (King  James  Version)  with  Addison's  hymn  beginning 
''The  spacious  firmament  on  high,"  and  both  with  the  stanzas 
quoted  above  from  Gray's  Elegy, 

Prepare  an  oral  report,  with  quotations,  on  the  choice  of  words 
in  one  of  the  following:  the  first  chapter  of  the  Book  of  Ruth  (King 
James  Version),  Browning's  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News 
from  Ghent  to  Aix,  or  The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village  or  Traveler,  or  some  other  descriptive  passage 
studied  in  the  course  of  literature. 

(Such  exercises  may  be  extended  and  adapted  freely  to  the  lit- 
erature currently  studied.  They  will  be  enhanced  by  offering 
some  freedom  of  choice  among  favorite  books,  irrespective  of  the 
curriculum;  but  a  certain  number  of  assignments  should  be  made 
on  a  few  typical  passages  for  comparison  on  the  blackboard  and 
in  general  discussion.) 


158  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

Figures  of  Speech.  —  In  trying  to  be  specific  and  concrete 
we  often  use  what  are  called  figures  of  speech.  Any  use  of 
words  that  is  not  literal  is  called  figurative.  Some  people 
are  naturally  more  figurative  in  their  habit  of  speech  than 
others;  but  we  all  use  figures  every  day.  He  knows  which 
side  his  bread  is  buttered  on,  refers,  of  course,  not  literally  to 
bread  and  butter,  but  figuratively  to  a  habit  of  circum- 
spection. A  hostess  is  said  to  break  the  ice  when  she  dispels 
the  first  embarrassment  of  her  guests.  A  bicyclist  is  Hter- 
ally  wheeling  on  the  road;  and  a  gull  is  figuratively  u>/ieeZingf 
in  the  air  above  him.  Indeed,  it  is  largely  by  such  figura- 
tive applications  that  language  grows.  Wheeling,  as  appHed 
to  the  flight  of  certain  birds,  is  so  common  that  we  hardly 
think  of  it  as  any  more  figurative  than  circling.  So  grit  is 
as  common  in  its  figurative  as  in  its  literal  sense.  So  in  the 
past  history  of  the  language  thousands  of  words  have  been 
extended  in  meaning  by  being  apphed  figuratively. 

Fume  literally  means  smoke.  In  Latin  (fumu^)  it  was  applied 
figuratively  to  silly  talk.  Coming  into  English  through  the  French, 
it  was  applied  figuratively  to  the  headache  and  distaste  that  fol- 
low intemperance,  and  later  to  the  expression  of  fret  and  impa- 
tience. Meantime  the  original  literal  meaning  has  been  kept  too, 
as  in  the  word  chafe;  but  in  many  words  the  original  literal  meaning 
has  been  dropped  for  the  figurative,  and  this  figurative  meaning, 
thus  becoming  literal,  has  in  turn  given  rise  to  new  figures.  In 
vixen  and  wheedle,  what  was  originally  a  figurative  application 
has  long  been  the  only  meaning,  i.e.,  has  become  literal.  Find 
in  a  large  dictionary  what  these  words  meant  originally.  Inves- 
tigate also  the  successive  meanings  of  clog,  coward,  fret,  style.  Point 
out  the  figurative  expressions  in  the  lists  at  pages  150-152;  in  the 
passages  quoted  throughout  the  present  chapter. 

Thousands  of  sucb  instances  show  that  figurative  appli- 
cation of  words  is  a  natural  tendency  of  speech,  especially 
in  description. 


WORDS  159 

For  figures  of  speech  arise  from  the  desire  to  be  interesting 
by  stirring  the  imagination  to  make  pictures.  And  since 
this  is  done  by  specific  and  concrete  words,  figures  are  of 
two  general  kinds:  (1)  figures  of  association,  arising  from 
the  desire  to  be  specific;  (2)  figures  of  likeness,  arising  from 
the  desire  to  be  concrete. 

Figures  of  Association.  —  Instead  of  saying  thirty  new 
workmen,  we  often  say  thirty  new  hands,  specifying  the 
significant  part  that  does  the  work.  So  the  officer  on  deck, 
or  the  boss  of  a  gang,  cries  ^^  All  hands! '^  and  the  men  talk 
of  a  green  hand,  A  man  in  his  cups  is  a  picturesque  descrip- 
tion of  a  tippler,  because  it  calls  attention  to  the  significant 
object.  Thirty  sail  stands  for  thirty  ships  by  the  use  of  the 
most  visible  part  for  the  whole.  More  poetically  we  say, 
The  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.  Such  use  of  the  impor- 
tant part  for  the  whole,  or  of  the  sign  itself  for  the  thing 
signified,  is  technically  called  metonymy. 

Figures  of  Likeness.  —  Much  more  commonly  we  describe 
by  figures  springing  from  likeness.  In  order  to  be  con- 
crete, we  stir  the  imagination  to  picture  something  by 
comparison.  Thus  the  abstract,  general  idea  of  the  awful 
shortness  of  human  fife  is  brought  home  to  us  concretely 
in  the  famihar  ninetieth  psalm  used  at  funerals: 

Thou  carriest  them  away  as  with  a  flood.  They  are  as  a  sleep. 
In  the  morning  they  are  like  grass  which  groweth  up.  In  the 
morning  it  flourisheth  and  groweth  up;  in  the  evening  it  is  cut 
down  and  withereth.    Psalm  xc.  5-6. 

A  more  homely  use  of  the  same  figure  is  the  phrase  to 
look  as  black  as  a  thunder-cloud. 

Such  comparisons  are  called  similes.  Comparisons  which, 
instead  of  being  thus  fully  stated  by  like  or  as,  are  merely 
implied,  are  called  metaphors.  "The  cock^s  shrill  clarion," 
in  the  fifth  stanza  of  Gray's  Elegy,  compares  the  cock-crow 


160  INTEREST  IN  DETAILS 

to  the  sound  of  a  horn  without  saying  fully  "The  cock^s 
shrill  crow  was  like  a  clarion."  And  such  implied  compari- 
sons are  far  more  common.  Metaphors  are  more  common 
than  similes  because  they  are  swifter.  Indeed,  nothing  is 
more  common  in  description  than  metaphors.  They  are  so 
natural  a  means  of  concreteness  that  not  only  our  descrip- 
tive writing,  but  even  our  daily  speech,  is  full  of  them. 
Detectives  are  said  to  be  hounding  a  suspect.  An  attorney 
boils  with  indignation.  A  woman  flits  along  a  corridor.  The 
baby  crows.  A  lively  child  is  called  a  cricket  or  a  grasshopper; 
a  monotonously  persistent  boy,  a  katydid.  A  runner  steals 
a  base.  The  locomotive  snorts  at  the  station.  We  are  left 
in  the  dark  as  to  the  intentions  of  our  mayor.  And  nothing 
could  better  show  the  activity  of  this  habit  than  the  fact 
that  slang  is  very  largely  metaphorical. 

A  habit  of  metaphors  is  worth  cultivating  in  so  far  as  it 
helps  toward  concreteness.  As  part  of  the  training  in  ob- 
servation, it  is  worth  while  to  notice  in  common  things  such 
picturesque  Ukenesses.  But  neither  metaphors  nor  any 
other  figurative  expressions  are  to  be  sought  for  them- 
selves. A  writer  not  naturally  figurative  who  tries  to  add 
figures  merely  for  ornament  runs  the  risk  of  becoming  arti- 
ficial. It  is  far  better  to  use  a  figure  only  when  it  comes  to 
mind  readily,  only  when  in  imagination  one  sees  or  hears  the 
thing  in  that  way.  There  is  no  need  to  beat  one^s  brains 
for  figures.  Some  of  the  best  description  is  largely  —  some 
of  it  entirely  —  literal.  The  first  two  stanzas  of  Gray's 
Elegy  and  the  fourth,  which  have  hardly  any  figures,  are 
quite  as  appeahng  as  any  of  the  others.  No,  try  simply  to 
be  specific  and  concrete.  Whether  in  so  trying  you  become 
figurative  or  not  is  of  comparatively  little  moment. 

Prepare  a  brief  list^  of  metonymies,  similes,  and  metaphors 
selected  from  the  passages  quoted  in  this  chapter;  another  from 
books  recently  studied  in  the  course  of  literature. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CLEARNESS  IN   COMPILATION 

The  themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter^  besides  the  incidental 
exercises  in  note-taking  and  brief-drawing  suggested  below,  should 
be  arguments  and  expositions  of  600  words  or  more.  They  should 
be  spread  over  as  much  time  as  is  necessary  to  provide  (a)  careful 
choice  and  limitation  by  announcement  or  assignment  in  advance, 
(6)  class  discussion  of  notes  and  brief  in  advance,  (c)  connected 
oral  presentation,  of  the  whole  or  of  parts,  the  class  being  held  to 
discuss  the  speaker's  method,  (d)  writing  out  in  full  and  revision 
after  critid^sm.  The  main  paint  of  instruction  being  system  and 
order,  quantity  and  frequency  are  of  less  importance  than  thor* 
oughness.  The  class  work  should  be  focused  on  preparing,  critic 
cising,  and  revising  the  themes  themselves.  All  other  exercises 
and  all  formal  recitation  should  be  subsidiary.  At  this  stage  a 
student  needs  less  to  tell  how  the  thing  should  be  done  than  to  do 
it,  to  tell  how  he,  or  his  neighbor,  has  done  it,  and  to  do  it  over 
again.  Thus  a  large  part  of  the  recitation  period  may  well  be 
spent  in  hearing  themes  and  giving  account  of  them  {See  pages 
15,  29),  in  definite  tasks  of  written  revision,  or  in  debate.  Sub- 
jects,  in  addition  to  those  below,  should  be  drawn,  not  only  from 
current  events  and  the  college  debating  society,  but  also  from  current 
studies,  especially  history.  A  single  subject  will  often  serve  as  a 
field  of  work  through  several  sections  of  the  text-book  and  several 
meetings  of  the  dass. 

As  the  study  of  composition  widens  its  scope,  expanding 

with  a  student^s  development,  it  calls  more  and  more  for 

compilation  of  facts  from  books.     How  old  a  student  is 

in  his  mind  can  be  estimated  pretty  closely  by  his  use  of  a 

12  161 


162  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

library;  that  is,  by  his  ability  in  comparing  books,  in  choos- 
ing from  each  the  facts  that  he  needs,  and  in  grouping  them 
for  use.  Unusual  abihty  in  such  comparing,  choosing,  and 
grouping  marks  a  man  as  original.  He  becomes  a  leader 
by  his  power  to  think  for  himself.  But  some  of  this  abil- 
ity must  be  acquired  by  every  one  whose  education  is  to 
go  on.  The  process  is  not  the  narrowing  of  study  to  the 
single  channel  of  one's  profession  or  business.  Indeed,  it 
is  just  when  his  studies  become  more  various  that  a  student 
begins  to  choose  and  group  for  himself.  He  not  only  prizes 
certain  subjects  most;  he  begins  to  look  at  all  subjects  for 
himself.  Heretofore  his  individuality  has  been  shown  by 
the  books  he  drew  from  the  library;  now  it  is  shown  by  a 
growing  abihty  to  compare  books  in  the  Hbrary,  find  among 
them  what  will  serve  him,  and  express  the  results  in  his 
own  way.  By  thus  expressing  what  his  reading  means  to 
him,  a  student  learns  to  find  himself  and  bring  himself  to 
bear.  The  library  is  the  community  center.  There  each 
student  must  find  what  he  needs  for  his  own  education, 
and  adapt  it  to  the  purposes  of  his  own  influence.  Knowl- 
edge is  power,  says  the  proverb;  but  knowledge  is  con- 
verted into  power  only  in  proportion  as  it  is  appUed  by 
each  student. 

Such  use  of  a  large  library  is  learned  most  quickly  through 
being  obliged  to  shape  one's  notes  into  some  consecutive 
spoken  or  written  result.  Silly  as  a  student  would  be  to 
think  these  results  important  to  the  world,  yet  he  is  wise 
to  compose  them  by  way  of  thinking  them  out  for  himself. 
One's  youthful  opinion  may  be  worth  nothing;  but  the 
habit  of  finding  out  for  oneself  and  of  fitting  knowledge 
to  oneself  is  worth  everything.  That  is  why  students  are 
asked  to  make  speecfees  and  essays  on  the  French  Colonial 
System  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  on  Municipal  Tenements, 
on  the  Battle  of  Saratoga,  the  ItaUan  City  States,  the  Drain- 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  163 

age  of  Mines,  and  a  hundred  other  subjects  in  which  they 
may  be  interested.  The  composition  gives  no  new  informa- 
tion to  the  world;  but  it  gives  new  discipline  to  the  com- 
poser. Every  wise  teacher  tries  to  make  the  pupil  a  teacher 
too.  Qui  docet  discit,  said  the  Latin  proverb;  he  that 
teaches  learns.  The  endeavor  to  make  one's  conception 
clear  to  others  compels  that  choosing  and  grouping  which 
make  it  clearer  to  oneself.  In  order  to  go  on  learning,  one 
must  begin  to  teach. 

Composition  of  this  sort  may  be  applied,  as  we  have 
seen,  in  either  of  two  ways.  First,  it  may  interpret  the 
bearing  and  significance  of  facts  merely  to  explain  them;  or, 
secondly,  it  may  interpret  in  order  to  convince  people  or 
convert  them.  The  former  is  technically  called  exposition; 
the  latter,  argument,  or,  more  broadly,  'persuasion.  For 
either  the  Ubrary  preparation  is  much  the  same.  Whether 
we  wish  to  explain  the  causes  of  our  war  with  Mexico,  or 
to  justify  our  waging  it,  we  need  to  investigate  the  same 
facts. 

1.  COLLECTING  FACTS 

Taking  Notes.  —  Notes  on  Cards.  —  Why  is  the  library 
catalogue  on  cards  in  drawers?  Library  catalogues  used  to 
be  printed  and  bound  in  books;  but  consequently  they  were 
never  complete.  They  had  to  have  supplements  continually; 
the  combining  of  these  supplements  with  the  former  cata- 
logue meant  reprinting  from  beginning  to  end;  and  mean- 
time readers  often  had  to  consult  several  volumes  in  order 
to  locate  one  book.  In  the  card  catalogue  a  new  book  means 
simply  the  insertion  of  a  new  card;  the  catalogue  is  always 
complete;  and  the  time  needed  for  consultation  is  usually 
much  less.  Let  this  be  a  hint  for  your  notes.  Notes  taken 
in  a  bound  book  cannot  be  easily  arranged  without  being 
copied;  and  copying  is  a  waste  of  time.     Notes  taken  on 


164  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

cards  need  only  be  shuffled  to  be  arranged  in  any  order 
desired.  The  cards  need  not  be  of  a  particular  style. 
Whether  slips  of  paper,  Kbrary  cards,  or  leaves  in  a  loose- 
leaf  note-book,  they  will  answer  equally,  if  only  they  are 
(1)  separate,  (2)  small,  and  (3)  uniform  in  size.  The  whole 
point  is  to  take  each  note  on  a  separate  slip,  so  that  it  may 
be  arranged  in  whatever  connection  you  finally  plan.  The 
slips  can  be  held  together  by  an  elastic  band.  They  should 
be  destroyed  after  the  composition  is  written  or  spoken; 
for,  however  important  they  may  seem  at  the  time,  their 
value  is  mainly  for  practice.  It  is  rarely  wise  for  any  one 
to  make  a  permanent  collection  of  notes  except  in  the  m^ature 
studies  of  his  profession. 

Notes  Few  and  Brief,  —  Next  to  having  notes  instantly 
available  on  separate  slips,  the  most  important  thing  is  to 
have  them  few  and  brief.  People  who  heap  up  notes  often 
write  before  they  think,  sometimes  write  instead  of  thinking. 
Notes  in  themselves  never  made  any  one  wise  or  ready. 
Of  course  the  number  of  notes  must  depend  somewhat  on 
the  subject.  A  debate  on  the  war  with  Mexico  might 
require  five  times  as  many  cards  as  an  essay  on  the  char- 
acter of  Lincoln,  because  the  subject  is  more  compUcated. 
But  in  general  the  aim  should  be  to  keep  notes  down.  To 
this  end  never  quote  if  you  can  help  it.  Quotations  add 
much  to  the  bulk  of  notes.  They  are  very  Hkely  to  be 
abandoned  after  further  reading.  If  they  are  kept,  they 
hinder  expression  in  one's  own  way.  And  finally,  they  are 
of  little  use.  Once  in  a  while  a  debater  scores  a  point  by 
quoting  some  authority.  Otherwise  a  quotation  is  likely 
to  be  worth  no  more  than  the  fact  it  contains;  and  that  can 
usually  be  noted  better  and  more  briefly  in  one's  own  words. 
No  serious  student  ourght  to  think  there  is  any  value  in 
making  of  himself  a  copying  machine.     Don't  quote. 

Don't  paraphrase  either.     Your  object  is  not  to  repeat 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  165 

what  some  one  else  said,  following  his  order,  but  to  apply 
his  facts  to  your  own  quite  different  end.  There  is  no  use 
in  re-writing  his  cyclopedia  article.  Parts  of  it  bear  on 
your  inquiry;  parts  do  not.  Taking  a  fact  that  you  want, 
express  it  on  your  note-slip  in  the  fewest  words  that  will 
clearly  remind  you  of  that  fact.  Add  always  a  brief  refer- 
ence to  the  book  and  the  page.  Then  if  by  chance  the 
note  is  too  brief  —  and  this  happens  rarely  —  the  reference 
will  guide  instantly  to  the  place;  if  the  note  is  disputed, 
the  reference  will  show  your  authority.  Such  note-taking 
is  excellent  practice  in  condensation,  in  forming  a  habit  of 
expressing  the  gist  of  a  thing.  When  you  come  to  plan, 
it  does  not  obscure  the  bearing  of  a  note  by  superfluous 
words,  or  hamper  your  own  application  by  suggesting  some 
one  else^s.  And  when  you  come  to  write  or  speak,  it  leaves 
you  quite  free  from  any  language  but  your  own.  Take  a 
note  in  your  own  words,  as  briefly  as  is  consistent  with  clear- 
ness, and  add  a  reference  to  author  and  page.^ 

Notes  from  more  than  One  Source.  —  Keeping  notes  few 
and  brief  makes  it  possible  in  a  given  time  to  consult  several 
books  instead  of  one.  This  is  so  important,  for  real  profit 
in  composition  based  on  reading,  that  it  is  practically 
indispensable.  A  composition  based  on  a  single  source  is 
hardly  a  composition  at  all.  At  best  it  is  only  a  summary; 
at  worst  it  is  only  a  paraphrase.  It  gives  no  practice  in 
planning;  for  it  takes  the  plan  ready-made.  It  requires 
neither  comparing  nor  grouping  and  only  such  choosing  as 
consists  in  leaving  certain  details  out.  Now  the  very  point 
of  using  a  large  library  for  investigation  of  facts  is  to  com- 
pare, to  choose,  and  to  group.  That  is  the  kind  of  educa- 
tion proper  to  a  large  public  library  as  distinct  from  the 
kind  proper  to  a  small  private  library.  One  is  for  extensive 
reading;  the  other,  for  intensive  (see  page  234).     You  pore 

*  For  subjects  see  below,  and  compare  the  head-note  to  this  chapter. 


166  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

over  a  book  at  home  from  cover  to  cover.  That  is  one 
kind  of  reading,  and  there  is  none  better.  But  you  go  to 
the  Hbrary  to  gather  and  focus,  for  instance,  what  seem 
to  you  the  most  important  differences  between  the  French 
colonies  and  the  EngUsh  colonies  in  America,  or  to  com- 
pare views  as  to  the  Japanese  on  the  Pacific  coast.  That  is 
quite  another  kind  of  reading.  Having  a  different  object, 
it  should  have  a  different  method.  In  this  case  it  is  better 
for  the  written  or  spoken  production,  and  far  better  for  the 
student^s  education,  to  read  chosen  parts  of  several  books 
than  to  spend  the  same  time  on  one.  Thus  he  will  be  taught 
by  several  teachers,  and  will  himself  both  learn  and  teach 
with  better  mastery.  Always,  then,  use  more  than  one 
source  of  information.  Do  your  own  job;  don't  do  another 
man's  job  over  after  him. 

Books  of  Reference,  —  To  this  end,  question  at  the  begins 
ning  and  all  through  the  investigation.  Before  reading  a 
book,  know  what  you  are  looking  for  in  that  book;  then  read 
that  point,  not  everything.  In  some  cases  we  do  not  know 
at  first  exactly  what  we  need.  The  subject,  perhaps,  has 
been  assigned  as  a  general  topic  for  each  one  to  limit  as  he 
chooses;  or  for  some  other  reason  there  is  need  of  guidance. 
Now  every  large  library  keeps  certain  books  for  this  very 
purpose,  guide-books  to  knowledge.  They  are  called  refer- 
ence books,  and  they  are  usually  arranged  together  in  some 
alcove  convenient  for  constant  use.  This,  in  fact,  is  one  of 
the  principal  uses  of  a  large  Hbrary.  No  small  library  can 
afford  to  collect  the  abundance  that  we  expect  in  a  uni- 
versity or  public  hbrary.  The  first  lesson  of  research,  then, 
is  to  learn  where  to  look,  to  learn  what  are  the  principal 
reference  books  and  what  each  is  for. 

Books  of  reference •levidently  serve  two  purposes:  first, 
they  answer  our  questions  briefly,  by  summing  up  the  most 
important  points  of  knowledge  on  a  given  topic;  secondly. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  167 

they  tell  us  who  will  answer  more  fully,  by  adding  a  list  of 
the  best  books  on  that  topic.  First,  they  tell  us  about  some 
subjects  all  that  we  wish  to  know;  secondly,  they  tell  us 
about  others,  in  which  we  are  more  interested,  where  to 
look  further.  Some  books  of  reference  are  confined  to  the 
one  purpose  or  the  other.  A  smaller  cyclopedia  or  a  dic- 
tionary of  a  special  subject,  for  instance,  may  give  only 
summaries;  a  bibliography,  or  annotated  list  of  books  on  a 
certain  subject,  gives  nothing  besides  the  list.  But  the 
larger  cyclopedias  usually  give  both  summaries  and  lists 
of  books.  A  little  patient  experiment  will  soon  enable 
any  one  to  begin  his  research,  to  get  his  bearings,  without 
waste  of  time. 

Reading  from  Book  to  Book.  —  To  look  further,  we  go 
to  the  card  catalogue.  Here  may  arise  a  difficulty.  The 
books  mentioned  in  the  book  of  reference  may  be  too  tech- 
nical for  the  purpose,  or  too  elaborate,  or  in  an  unknown 
language,  or  not  in  the  library.  What  then?  There  is  no 
loss;  for,  even  so,  the  horizon  is  widened  by  choosing,  and 
enough  has  been  picked  up  from  the  cyclopedia  article  to 
guide  in  consulting  the  subject  catalogue  and  in  limiting  the 
scope  of  research.  In  many  libraries  the  next  step  is  made 
still  easier  and  more  profitable  by  the  privilege  of  access  to 
the  shelves.  Standing  before  a  whole  group  of  books  on 
the  general  subject,  one  begins  to  choose. 

How  choose  between  two  books  without  reading  both 
through?  In  brief,  by  glancing  through  before  reading,  by 
questioning  once  more.  Sometimes  this  takes  but  a  mo- 
ment, as  when  a  book  is  evidently  too  elaborate,  or  too 
brief,  or  too  old.  Sometimes  the  choice  is  determined  by 
the  author's  name,  as  when  the  cyclopedia  calls  him  an 
authority,  or  when  we  know  by  previous  experience  that 
he  is  clear  and  simple.  When  there  is  no  such  guide,  it  is 
worth  while  to  question  the  table  of  contents;  and  this 


168  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

practice  is  the  more  useful  the  more  one  has  already  learned, 
for  thus  he  often  finds  that,  though  the  book  as  a  whole 
has  little  to  his  present  purpose,  some  chapter  is  very  much 
in  point.  By  practice  one  learns  to  know  what  he  wants 
and  to  find  what  he  wants  more  and  more  readily,  imtil  he 
has  acquired  that  important  skill  which  we  call  command 
of  books. 

EXERCISES  IN  RESEARCH 

(These  exercises  may  he  extended,  abbreviated,  or  otherwise  adapted 
to  the  class  or  the  individual.  They  are  meant,  not  to  prescribe 
subjects,  but  to  show  kinds  of  subjects  and  method.) 

1.  Report  orally  from  your  note-slips  on  your  preliminary 
investigation  for  the  theme  now  in  hand,  somewhat  as  follows:  I 
consulted  1st, ;  2dly, ;  3dly, .  The  main  dif- 
ferences among  these  books  are .    My  particular  theme 

within  the  common  topic  will  be .     On  this  I  propose  to 

read  further  .  The  profit  of  such  reports  is  much  en- 
hanced by  watching  how  others  have  approached  the  same  task. 

2.  Look  for  chivalry  in  all  the  dictionaries  and  all  the  cyclo- 
pedias, so  as  to  explain  the  kind  of  information  on  this  topic  to 
be  found  in  each.  Find  a  popular  history  of  the  Middle  Ages 
containing  a  chapter  on  chivalry  and  make  a  note  of  the  title  of 
the  book  and  the  chapter  number.  Look  for,  and  note  sim- 
ilarly, a  chapter  or  section  on  chivalry  in  a  history  of  France.  If 
you  do  not  find  it  in  a  brief,  popular  history,  look  in  a  longer  his- 
tory; if  you  find  it  in  both,  note  the  differences  in  length  and 
manner  of  treatment.  Investigate  two  other  references  in  the 
card  catalogue  of  subjects  under  the  head  chivalry,  and  note  one 
of  two  references  in  this  catalogue  to  related  topics,  or  to  sub- 
topics such  as  you  might  use  in  planning  your  essay.  Find  in 
the  library,  or  mention  from  your  previous  reading,  two  stories 
of  chivalry.  Write  the  title  of  each  of  these  books  on  a  separate 
card  or  slip  and,  underneath,  a  brief  summary  of  the  kind  of  infor- 
mation given  by  each.  \Such  a  catalogue  on  a  single  subject, 
though  incomplete  and  imperfect,  is  of  the  same  sort  as  the  full 
and  elaborate  printed  lists  of  books  on  certain  subjects  which  are 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  169 

called  bibliographies.  These  full,  printed  bibliographies  are  inval- 
uable for  long  and  extended  research;  but  for  limited  investiga- 
tion with  a  view  to  composition  it  is  better  to  make  one's  own  list 
of  books  actually  used. 

3.  Report  orally  from  note-slips  how  much  information  about 
Denmark^  and  of  what  kind,  can  be  found:  (1)  in  an  atlas,  (2)  in  a 
statistical  almanac,  (3)  in  a  commercial  geography,  (4)  in  a  small 
cyclopedia,  (5)  in  a  large  cyclopedia,  (6)  (7)  (8)  in  three  other 
sources  of  your  own  choosing. 

4.  Starting  with  the  vague,  general  notion  expressed  by  the 
word  Indians,  find  in  the  library  what  are  the  main  lines  for  its 
investigation.  Choosing  the  line  that  you  like  best,  read  along 
this  far  enough  to  limit  your  theme  for  an  essay  of  not  more  than 
600  words.  After  collecting  notes,  and  before  writing,  draw  up 
a  report  of  how  you  began  the  investigation  and  how  you  went 
on,  telling  in  order  what  books  you  consulted^  and  why. 

Authority.  —  The  fullest,  latest,  and  most  expert  discus- 
sions in  certain  fields  of  common  interest  are  often  furnished 
by  the  bureaus  of  the  federal  government,  such  as  the  De- 
partment of  Agriculture,  the  Forest  Service,  the  Department 
of  Commerce  and  Labor.  Their  publications  are  usually  to 
be  found  in  every  public  library;  and,  though  they  are  often 
too  minute  and  technical  for  ordinary  use,  they  ought  to  be 
known  as  authorities.  An  authority  is  a  source  of  informa- 
tion so  trustworthy  that  its  accuracy  cannot  be  disputed. 
To  judge  between  conflicting  authorities  is  sometimes  diffi- 
cult even  for  minds  mature  and  well  trained;  but  to  learn 
where  to  look  for  authority  in  matters  of  ordinary  concern 
and  argument  is  possible  to  any  intelligent  student  who  will 
take  pains,  and  becomes  of  great  value  as  a  mental  habit. 

Standard  reference  books  are  generally  accepted  as  author- 
ity, and  especially  reference  books  limited  to  a  particular 
field.  Their  authority  is  not,  of  course,  their  own;  it  is 
merely  that  of  the  books  from  which  they  draw;  but,  since 


170  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

the  compilers  are  skilled  in  gathering  and  sifting  informa- 
tion, since  the  summaries  are  frequently  corrected  by  revi- 
sion, and  since  most  of  us  in  many  cases  cannot  go  back  to 
the  original  sources,  the  best  books  of  reference  may  be 
trusted.  Again,  a  book  is  often  more  readily  accepted  and 
usually  more  serviceable  for  composition  than  a  magazine 
or  newspaper,  because  it  is  probably  more  responsible  and 
better  digested.  Expert  as  newspapers  are  in  collecting 
information,  they  are  so  much  concerned  with  telUng  facts 
promptly  and  attractively  that  they  lose  something  in 
accuracy.  In  magazines,  too,  the  main  object  is  often 
interest.  The  difficulty  is  not  that  periodicals  are  inten- 
tionally inaccurate,  but  that  they  are  so  unintentionally 
from  the  necessity  of  haste  and  the  occasional  sacrifice  of 
information  to  interest.  Accurate  information  must  always 
be  the  main  concern  of  a  student  in  collecting  facts. 
Interest  he  will  supply  himself  by  his  own  way  of  adapting 
the  subject  to  his  own  audience.  Periodicals  are  written 
to  tell  us  at  once  what  is  going  on  now.  In  current 
matters  which  concern  us  deeply,  or  which  are  in  dispute, 
we  compare  two  or  three  accounts,  checking  off  one  by 
the  other.  Excellent  practice  in  discrimination  such  com- 
parison is  most  surely;  but  it  may  be  very  difficult.  Now 
the  author  of  a  book  has  presumably  done  this  sifting 
for  us.  At  least  he  has  had  the  time;  at  least,  we  may 
expect  him  to  have  selected  the  most  important  facts 
and  cast  aside  the  trivial.  A  book,  then,  is  more  prom- 
ising as  a  source  of  information.  For  the  rest,  we  must 
measure  it  by  its  reputation  and  by  comparison  with  other 
books,  and  in  cases  of  dispute  know  what  is  the  authority. 

But  not  all  books  are  superior  to  all  periodicals.  Some 
books  are  trash;  some  fc^w  periodicals  are  themselves  author- 
ities in  special  fields.  Moreover,  for  certain  subjects  of 
current  discussion  the  use  of  periodicals  is  necessary.     What 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  171 

then?  Compare  and  choose.  Don^t  accept  blindly  any- 
thing printed.  Use  books  as  well  as  periodicals;  for  even 
current  topics  must  be  discussed  with  reference  to  our 
previous  knowledge  and  ideas.  Form  a  habit  of  going  back, 
where  there  is  any  dispute,  as  near  as  possible  to  authority, 
and  consequently  learn  where  authority  is  to  be  looked  for. 
Learn  first  to  use  books,  and  in  every  investigation  begin 
with  books. 

For  example,  to  argue  the  advisability  of  annexing  Cuba,  one 
must  investigate  periodicals.  But  to  begin  by  reading  magazine 
articles  on  Cuba  indiscriminately  will  probably  waste  time.  The 
first  thing  to  consult  is  an  atlas,  then  one  of  the  briefer  cyclopedias, 
then  a  statistical  almanac.  After  getting  one's  bearings  in  this 
way  from  undisputed  sources,  one  may  choose  from  Poole's  Index 
to  Periodical  Literature  certain  articles  which  seem  promising  by 
the  reputation  of  the  author  and  the  periodical  and  by  being  suffi- 
ciently recent.  But  if  he  is  to  debate,  he  should  not  forget  to 
look  also  for  the  report  of  some  government  official  or  commission. 

Or  does  some  one  wish  to  decide  for  himself  whether  the  United 
States  should  maintain  the  duty  on  wood  pulp?  He  cannot  even 
read  a  magazine  article  on  the  subject  intelligently  until  he  knows 
what  wood  pulp  is,  what  the  duty  on  it  is,  and  why.  These  three 
pieces  of  fundamental  information  are  to  be  found  in  books  of 
reference.    Which? 

Should  the  Japanese  children  in  San  Francisco  be  segregated 
in  a  school  for  Orientals?  The  question  is  so  recent  that  there 
are  no  special  books  on  it.  Frame  some  pertinent  questions  for 
preliminary  investigation  in  reference  books. 

Group  the  following  according  to  the  kind  of  reference  books 
in  which  most  of  the  facts  are  to  be  found.  Bring  in  notes  on  such 
of  them,  and  in  such  way,  as  may  be  assigned  (see  above).  As 
early  as  possible  in  the  investigation  Hmit  the  field. 


Argentina. 

Ptolemaic  System. 

Monastery, 

Magna  Charta, 

Primary. 

Cabinet. 

Temple. 

University. 

Tariff. 

172 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 


Weather  Bureau.      Venice. 


Castle. 


Alfalfa. 

Panama  Canal. 

Filters. 

Congo. 

Monroe  Doctrine. 

Norman  Conquest. 

Forestry. 

Cyclone. 

Cotton. 

Mirage. 

Legion. 

Wireless  Telegraphy. 

Joan  of  Arc. 

Louisiana  Purchase. 

Aeroplane. 

Cobalt. 

Temple. 

Assaying. 

Wheat. 

Siberia. 

Injunction. 

To  compare  and  choose  in  a  library,  then,  means  to  select 
what  is  important  for  one's  own  purpose,  to  take  concise 
notes  on  cards  from  more  than  one  book,  to  work  from 
general  summaries  and  guides  to  the  particulars  that  are 
needed,  to  know  where  to  begin  and  how  to  go  from  book 
to  book.  It  means  to  discriminate  more  and  more  among 
sources  of  information,  until  one  learns  the  meaning  of 
accuracy  and  the  value  of  authority.  This  is  a  long  task; 
but,  its  importance  in  education  once  understood,  it  is  neither 
hard  nor  dull.  For  it  is  the  way  in  which  any  intelligent 
student  may  become  a  master  of  books. 


2.   GROUPING  FACTS 

The  next  step  is  to  sort  and  group  the  notes  under  headings. 
Only  so  can  they  be  used.  A  good  deal  of  this  sorting  and 
grouping  is  done  while  one  is  collecting.  For  a  wise  investi- 
gator does  not  heap  up  notes  micellaneously;  he  pauses 
again  and  again  to  take  his  bearings  (page  166);  the  ma- 
terial that  he  has  already  he  groups  by  writing  at  the  top  of 
his  cards  trial  headings.  Thus  he  can  see  where  he  has 
much  material  and  where  he  has  little  by  bringing  together 
the  notes  that  are  most  closely  related.  Though  these 
headings  may  need  revi^on  afterward  in  the  light  of  further 
knowledge,  and  though  the  notes  under  them  may  need  to 
be  subdivided,  still  the  trial  headings  help  him  to  see  his 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  173 

way  as  he  goes.  But  when  at  last  the  reading  is  finished^ 
when  the  material  seems  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  it  is 
better  to  write  out  all  these  headings  on  a  large  sheet,  so 
as  to  look  them  over  together,  to  make  tKem  more  precise, 
to  weed  out  repetitions,  to  close  side-tracks,  —  in  short,  to 
make  a  clear  chart  of  the  whole.  The  object  of  such  a 
chart  or  plan  of  the  whole  is  to  make  all  the  main  headings 
bear  directty  upon  the  single  underlying  idea  that  the  exposi-^ 
tion  aims  to  explain  or  the  argument  to  prove,  and  to  make 
each  sub-heading  bear  directly  upon  some  main  heading. 
It  is  a  plan  for  analysis,  a  plan  for  the  writer  or  speaker 
himself,  a  means  to  arrange  each  separate  piece  of  informa- 
tion where  it  belongs.  Its  aim  is  not  so  much  to  determine 
the  paragraphs  in  which  the  essay  will  finally  be  written, 
or  the  speech  spoken,  as  to  determine  which  are  the  main 
points,  the  larger  ideas  that  support  the  whole  object  of 
the  composition  directly;  and  which  are  the  subordinate 
points,  the  facts  that  support  the  object  indirectly  by  sup- 
porting these  main  ideas.  Therefore  such  an  analysis  has 
for  its  chief  business  to  settle  these  main  ideas.  The  para- 
graphs will  be  settled  later.  First  comes  the  necessity  of 
dividing  the  material  by  points.  For  we  can  hardly  make 
a  plan  of  presentation  to  others  until  we  have  first  sorted 
out  the  material  by  a  plan  of  analysis  for  ourselves.  Before 
we  determine  how  to  speak,  we  must  determine  exactly 
what  we  know. 

Fixing  the  Single  Point  in  a  Sentence.  —  Of  course,  this 
cannot  be  done  at  all  until  we  have  fixed  the  goal,  the  single 
object  of  the  whole  composition.  For  debate  this  is  always 
settled  in  advance  in  a  single  sentence,  or  proposition.  Li- 
censes for  Newsboys  —  no  one  can  debate  that;  it  is  too 
vague.  Licenses  from  the  Board  of  Aldermen  should  he  re- 
quired of  all  newsboys  —  at  once  we  know  from  this  com- 
plete and  definite  statement  exactly  what  is  to  be  proved. 


174  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

Municipal  Ownership  of  Gas  Works  —  what  of  it?  Our  city 
should  own  and  operate  its  gas  works  —  at  once  the  object  is 
clear.  Argument  cannot  come  to  anything  until  its  object 
is  fixed  in  a  complete  sentence,  a  definite  proposition.  If 
the  task  is,  not  to  prove  something,  but  merely  to  explain, 
the  whole  essay  need  not  always  be  held  to  a  single  propo- 
sition; but  it  still  needs  to  be  clearly  limited.  Chivalry  is 
too  vague  for  a  guide.  One  might  read  and  write  on  that 
for  weeks  without  arriving  at  any  result  definite  enough  to 
be  comprehended  as  a  whole;  and,  until  it  is  comprehended 
as  a  whole,  no  subject  can  be  brought  to  bear.  The  Train- 
ing of  a  Medieval  Boy  in  Chivalry y  Two  Lessons  of  Chivalry 
for  Our  TimeSy  —  either  of  these  is  such  a  limitation  of  the 
subject  as  should  be  fixed  in  advance,  or  settled  after  a 
little  preHminary  reading.  And  even  for  exposition  it  is 
often  possible  to  fix  the  object  in  a  sentence.  Chivalry  taught 
a  medieval  boy  honor  and  courtesy  — -  though  that  needs  no 
proof,  merely  explanation,  still  the  putting  of  it  into  a  sen- 
tence makes  the  whole  task  easier.  For  argument  always, 
then,  and  for  exposition  usually,  fix  the  object  of  the  whole 
in  a  single  sentence.  No  one  can  go  far  in  any  composition 
of  facts  without  knowing  where  he  is  to  come  out.  The  first 
question  of  analysis  is.  What  is  your  goal?     (See  page  30.) 

Frame  propositions  for  debates  on  the  following: 

1.  Vivisection. 

2.  Suburbs  or  City  Flat? 

3.  Military  Drill  in  Schools. 

4.  Immigration. 

5.  Prohibition. 

Brief,  or  Plan  for  Analysis  of  Argument.  —  Suppose,  now, 
the  goal  of  an  argument  fixed  in  a  proposition.  We  will 
begin  with  argument  because  it  is  easier  to  analyze,  and 
because  the  plan  for  analysis  of  argument  can  be  adapted 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  175 

with  slight  change  to  exposition  also.  The  simplest  plan 
for  analysis  of  argument  is:  (1)  to  write  at  the  head  of  a 
large  sheet  the  proposition  to  be  proved;  (2)  to  write  under- 
neath, numbering  them  A,  B,  C,  etc.,  with  spaces  between, 
what  seem  to  be  the  largest  reasons  for  the  proposition, 
those  main  reasons  that  include  minor  reasons  within  them- 
selves and  support  the  proposition  directly;  (3)  to  write 
underneath  each  of  these,  numbering  them  1,  2,  3,  etc.,  in 
the  blank  spaces,  the  reasons  for  this  larger  reason;  (4)  to 
write  underneath  1,  or  2,  or  3,  numbering  them  a,  b,  c,  etc., 
the  facts  that  in  turn  go  to  prove  this.  This  sort  of  plan  is 
often  called  a  brief.  It  shows  at  a  glance  both  the  whole 
line  of  argument  and  the  bearing  of  each  part,  even  of  each 
separate  fact.  It  shows  which  are  the  main  arguments, 
which  are  the  minor  ones.  It  shows  how  every  bit  of  the 
material  bears,  whether  as  a  main  point  supporting  the 
proposition  directly,  or  as  a  minor  point  supporting  one  of 
these  main  points.  It  is  a  complete  chart  or  guide  to  the 
material.  After  it  has  been  thought  out  and  revised,  it 
will  furnish  a  complete  index  to  the  notes;  for  these  can 
easily  be  numbered  and  grouped  according  to  the  plan. 

SPECIMEN  BRIEF 
Proposition 
Licenses  from  the  Board  of  Aldermen  should  he  required  of  all  news-- 
boys in  this  city, 

BRIEF  FOR  THE   AFFIRMATIVE 

A.  Some  measure  of  restriction  is  demanded, 

1.  Forty  per  cent  of  our  newsboys  are  under  twelve. 

a.  This  is  the  estimate  of  the  special  committee  of  the 
Board  of  Aldermen. 

2.  Such  work  at  their  age  stunts  their  growth. 

3.  It  also  hurts  their  schooling. 

a.  Late  hours  imfit  them  for  study. 


176  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

4.  Worst  of  all,  it  hurts  their  morals. 

a.  They  are  thrown  on  the  street  among  evil  influencses. 

B.  Restriction  by  parents  is  insufficient. 

1.  Some  boys  are  put  to  this  work  by  their  parents. 

2.  Many  parents  see  no  harm  in  it. 

o.  Many  are  too  ignorant,  or  indifferent. 
6.  Many  are  immigrants,  unaccustomed  to  our  American 
standard  of  living. 

3.  In  general,  newsboys  belong  to  a  class  improtected  by 
good  home  influences. 

C.  Restriction  by  the  State  is  in  line  with  our  wisest  legislation, 
1.   It  is  in  line  with  other  restrictions  on  child  labor. 

a.  Factories  are  forbidden  by  law  to  employ  children 
under  a  certain  age. 

b.  It  supports  the  law  of  compulsory  schooling. 

D.  The  argument  that  the  measure  would  work   hardship   is  in- 
sufficient, 

1.  No  fee  is  proposed  for  the  license. 

2.  Only  those  would  be  prohibited  who  would  suffer  more 
in  the  end  from  selling  papers. 

3.  The  few  possible  cases  of  actual  hardship  could  be  met 
otherwise  by  the  city. 

4.  The  main  consideration  must  be  the  good  to  the  whole 
community  resulting  from  the  protection  of  boys  now  unprotected. 

a.  These  boys  are  to  be  citizens. 

b.  Our  future  depends  on  the  health  and  education  of 
our  citizens. 

E.  The  particular  restriction  proposed  is  best, 

1.  Simply  to  pass  a  law  setting  an  age  limit  would  be  in- 
sufficient. 

a.  It  could  be  enforced  only  with  great  difficulty. 

(1)  Even   in   factories,    where   the   workers   are   all 
together,  the  federal  law  ^  sometimes  evaded. 

2.  Licensing  gives  the  opportunity  to  judge  each  case  on  its 
merits,  and  precludes  unnecessary  hardship. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  177 

3.  The  Board  of  Aldermen  is  the  proper  municipal  body  for 
this  work. 

a.  It  deals  with  licenses  in  general. 

b.  It  can  handle  this  additional  work  with  the  least  pos- 
sible expense  to  taxpayers. 

The  object  of  this  system  of  analysis  is  to  bring  every  bit 
of  material  into  some  definite  bearing.  It  makes  us  ask 
concerning  every  note,  Just  what  does  that  prove?  To 
this  end,  every  part  must  be  expressed  in  a  sentence.  Only 
thus  can  its  bearing  be  determined.  If  some  fact  will  not 
fit  into  the  system,  it  is  in  the  wrong  place,  or  its  bearing 
is  not  clearly  understood,  or  it  has  no  bearing  at  all  and 
should  therefore  be  omitted.  Each  detail  of  the  argument 
(a,  b,  or  c)  must  read  as  a  reason  for  the  larger  point  (1,  2, 
or  3)  under  which  it  stands,  as  if  it  were  preceded  by  the 
conjunction  for.  Each  larger  point  in  turn  (1,  2,  or  3)  must 
read  as  a  reason  for  the  still  larger  point  (A,  B,  or  C)  under 
which  it  stands.  Each  largest  point  (A,  5,  or  C)  must  read 
as  a  direct  reason  for  the  proposition.  Or,  to  put  it  the 
other  way,  Ay  B,  C,  etc.,  are  reasons  for  the  proposition; 
1,  2,  3,  etc.,  are  reasons  for  A  or  J5  or  C,  etc.;  a,  6,  c,  etc., 
are  reasons  for  1  or  2  or  3,  etc.  When  successive  arguments 
are  designated  by  the  same  type,  as  1  and  2,  they  are  under- 
stood to  be  co-ordinate,  as  if  they  were  connected  by  the 
conjunction  and;  when  successive  arguments  are  designated 
by  difference  of  type,  as  1  and  a,  the  second  is  understood 
to  be  subordinate  to  the  first,  as  if  they  were  connected  by 
the  conjunction  for.  This  distinction  is  marked  still  more 
clearly,  as  in  the  plan  above,  by  keeping  co-ordinate  argu- 
ments in  the  same  column  and  setting  subordinate  argu- 
ments a  little  to  the  right.  In  a  word,  the  object  of  this 
system  is  to  classify  the  notes. 

Though  at  first  the  system  may  seem  complicated,  it  is 
never  in  fact  more  compUcated  than  the  material  to  which 
13 


178  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

it  is  applied.  A  long  investigation  of  a  subject  in  many 
aspects  might,  indeed,  require  not  only  A's,  Ts,  and  a's, 
but  all  the  other  types  in  the  font.  But  we  are  not  suppos- 
ing anything  so  extraordinary;  and  in  ordinary  arguments 
the  plan  may  be  applied  quite  simply.  In  fact,  it  is  of 
constant  use  in  arguments  that  require  no  research  at  all. 

For,  not  Therefore.  —  Still,  a  few  cautions  will  save  trouble. 
First,  this  system  of  analysis  excludes  the  word  therefore. 
It  would,  indeed,  be  just  as  logical  to  turn  the  system  up- 
side down,  thus: 

a.  Factories  are  forbidden  by  law  to  employ  children  under  a. 
certain  age. 

6.  Such  licenses  would  support  the  law  of  compulsory  school- 
ing.    Therefore 

1.  The  proposed  licenses  are  in  line  with  other  restrictions 
on  child  labor.     Therefore 

C.  They  are  in  line  with  our  wisest  social  legislation. 
Therefore 

(Proposition)   Licenses  from  the  Board  of  Aldermen 
should  be  required  of  all  newsboys. 

And  in  deUvering  this  argument  one  might  follow  that 
order  (see  pages  173,  197).  But,  to  give  such  prominence  to 
the  main  points  as  will  make  them  catch  the  eye,  we  have 
started  the  other  way  about;  and,  having  started  that  way, 
we  must  not  change;  we  must  keep  one  way  throughout. 
Otherwise  the  plan  will  break  down.  The  conjunction 
implied  must  always  be  for.  When  you  feel  Uke  using 
therefore^  simply  reverse  the  order.  This  applies,  of  course, 
simply  to  the  brief,  not  at  all  to  the  order  of  sentences  in  a 
spoken  paragraph. 

How  to  Bring  Opposing  Arguments  into  the  Brief.  —  Sec- 
ondly, this  system  includes,  not  only  the  positive  arguments 
on  one's  own  side,  but  also  the  answers  to  the  arguments 
of  opponents.    It  is  all  made  from  one  point  of  view,  for 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  179 

no  one  can  argue  on  both  sides  at  once;  but  it  takes  account 
of  the  other  point  of  view  by  bringing  in  opposing  argu- 
ments to  answer  them.  This  is  called  rebuttal.  In  the 
plan  above,  the  main  point  D,  and  the  subordinate  point 
1  under  £',  are  rebuttals;  for  rebuttal  may  come  in  either 
as  a  main  point  or  as  a  subordinate  point.  In  either  case 
it  comes  into  the  plan  always  in  this  one  way: 

E,  The  argument  (or  assertion)  that (Here  state  the 

opposing  argument)  is  insufficient  (or  not  supported  by  the  facts, 
or  unwarranted.)  (Here  sum  up  in  a  word  or  phrase  the  way  in 
which  you  meet  the  opposing  argument.) 

1.  Here  state  a  fact  or  reason  in  support  of  your  objection. 

2.  Here  state  a  fact  or  reason  in  support  of  your  objection;  etc. 

Strict  adherence  to  this  form  makes  possible  the  bringing 
in  of  any  argument  whatsoever  for  the  other  side  without 
upsetting  the  plan  as  a  plan  for  one's  own  side.  It  has  the 
further  advantage  of  showing  just  how  an  opposing  argu- 
ment, as  well  as  a  positive  argument  of  one's  own,  bears  on 
the  whole  debate.  Best  of  all,  it  sets  up  the  other  side 
only  to  knock  it  down.  It  forces  one  to  answer.  It  forces 
him  to  consider  just  where  and  how  any  attack  should  be 
met.  No  one  can  argue  well  without  considering  the  other 
side;  neither  can  any  one  argue  well  without  staying  on  his 
own  side  while  he  meets  the  other  side  squarely.  For  the 
way  to  rebut  is  so  to  turn  the  arguments  of  an  adversary 
as  to  strengthen  one's  own  case. 

Division  Under  a  Few  Main  Heads,  —  Finally,  the  very 
object  of  a  brief  being  to  bring  out  the  main  points,  these 
main  points  should  be  few.  A  plan  consisting  of  ten  main 
points  is  a  plan  not  carefully  thought  out.  Some  of  these 
ten  points  thus  set  down  as  co-ordinate  must  in  fact  be 
subordinate  to  the  others;  for  any  ordinary  argument  can 
be  grouped  under  four  or  five  cardinal  points,  and  many  a 


180  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

good  argument  has  had  only  two  or  three.  All  the  others 
group  themselves  under  these.  A  man  who  has  the  pro- 
verbial twenty  reasons  for  a  proposition  has  some  larger 
and  some  smaller;  and  the  smaller  ones,  the  details,  should 
be  grouped  under  the  larger.  Indeed,  the  chief  service  of 
this  sort  of  plan-making  is  to  develop  a  habit  of  looking, 
in  any  question,  for  the  main  lines,  the  large  considerations, 
the  great  points,  —  in  a  word,  to  teach  grouping.  People 
who  can  thus  group  readily  are  said  to  see  through  a  ques- 
tion; and  no  one  is  further  from  seeing  through  a  question 
than  the  man  who  has  merely  accumulated  a  mass  of  facts 
without  classification,  who  has  no  better  idea  of  discussion 
than  merely  to  rehearse  one  fact  after  another.  He  is  Uke 
the  man  in^  the  proverb  who  could  not  see  the  forest  for 
the  trees.  He  is  bewildered  by  his  own  knowledge  because 
his  knowledge  is  disorderly.  Apply  the  brief  system  so  as 
to  group  your  material  finally  under  a  few  main  sentences 
which  you  feel  to  be  necessary  and  vital. 

Do  not  be  discouraged  if  you  cannot  settle  these  main 
headings  at  first.  They  require  thought.  Often  the  sub- 
ordinate headings  are  seen  first.  Often  eight,  or  even  ten, 
headings  will  serve  well  enough  for  a  while,  until  the  better 
grouping  comes  with  thought.  But  stop  to  think.  Take 
your  bearings  after  you  have  read  a  Httle;  take  them  again 
before  you  read  each  new  book.  Make  some  sort  of  classi- 
fication as  you  go  along.  Otherwise  you  will  probably 
waste  time  (see  page  166)  and  certainly  increase  the  diffi- 
culty of  planning  at  the  end.  Repeatedly  question,  not 
only  the  book  for  facts,  but  yourself  as  to  how  you  expect 
to  bring  them  to  bear.  Instead  of  hurrying  to  accumulate, 
let  a  plan  grow  in  your  mind  by  successive  revisions. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  181 

Exercises  in  Brief-Drawing 

Put  into  the  form  of  a  brief  your  reasons  for  preferring  a  certain 
town,  school,  business,  college,  or  profession.  Bring  in  at  least 
one  point  of  rebuttal:  i.e.,  answer  at  least  one  main  objection,  as 
well  as  any  minor  ones  that  apply  to  your  supporting  arguments. 

Put  into  the  form  of  a  brief  the  arguments  probably  used  by 
Columbus  to  secure  the  help  of  the  court  of  Spain;  the  argu- 
ments of  Franklin  before  the  Philadelphia  convention  in  1776 
C'We  must  hang  together  or  we  shall  hang  separately")* 

Put  into  the  form  of  a  brief  your  reasons  for  (or  against)  one  of 
the  following: 

1.  Ancient  warfare  made  soldiers  braver  than  modem  warfare 
does. 

2.  Attempts  to  reach  the  North  Pole  have  proved  themselves 
worth  while. 

3.  Brutus  was  right  in  joining  the  conspiracy  to  kill  Caesar. 

4.  Shylock  was  wronged. 

5.  The  government  of  England  is  more  truly  representative 
of  the  wishes  of  the  people  than  the  government  of  the  United 
States. 

6.  Savings  banks  should  be  operated  in  connection  with  the 
post-office. 

7.  Business  is  a  school  of  insincerity. 

8.  The  emphasis  on  extra-curriculum  activities  in  college  is 
undue. 

9.  This  college  should  adopt  the  Princeton  honor  system. 

Specimen  Briefs 

The  following  briefs,  while  they  exemplify  more  fully  the  method 
of  brief-drawing,  may  serve  also  as  preliminary  outlines  for  debate. 
Though  the  subjects  demand  investigation  of  facts,  these  briefs 
will  save  time  enough  to  make  class  debates  possible,  earlier  and 
more  frequently.  Adaptation  should  be  freely  made  by  omission, 
insertion,  or  rearrangement;  and  each  speech  will  require  a  new 
plan  by  paragraphs  (pages  173,  197). 


182  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

Proposition 
Cooper's  Indians  are  tme  to  life, 

EXPOSITORY   STATEMENT 

The  American  Indians  represented  in  Cooper's  novels  are  types 
of  several  tribes  in  the  successive  periods  from  the  time  of  the 
French  wars  to  the  time  when  the  westward  migration  had  passed 
the  Mississippi.  Indians  of  later  periods  are  without  the  scope 
of  this  discussion;  and  the  Indians  of  each  novel  are  to  be  judged 
by  their  faithfulness  to  the  period  and  the  tribes  treated.  The 
novels  in  question  are  the  Leather  stocking  Tales. 

True  to  life  does  not  exclude  minor  inaccuracies,  provided  that 
these  do  not  distort  the  general  impression.  By  true  to  life  we 
mean  like  the  Indians  of  those  times  in  all  essentials.  Thus  we 
may  call  Shakespeare's  Juliet  true  to  life,  in  spite  of  minor  inac- 
curacies of  detail,  provided  that  Juliet  is  essentially  hke  Italian 
girls  of  that  time. 

BRIEF  FOR  THE  AFFIRMATIVE 

A.  Cooper's  distinctions  of  the  traits  of  different  tribes  are  generally 
supported  by  history, 

1.   It  is  unhistorical  to  talk  of  Indians  in  general  as  if  they 
were,  or  had  been,  all  alike. 

a.  In  fact,  there  were  marked  tribal  differences. 
(1)  (Give  instances.) 

2.  The  Delawares,   to   whom   Cooper    assigns   the   nobler 
Indian  traits,  were  in  fact  superior. 

a.  Under  the  Moravian  missionaries  they  reached  a  high 
degree  of  civilization  before  the  Revolution. 

(1)  They  followed  agriculture  regularly. 

(2)  Their  religion  withstood  the  severest  persecution. 

3.  The  Hurons,  or  Iroquois,  of  Cooper's  novels  are  essentially 
like  the  actual  Hurons  of  history. 

a.  These  were  the  tribes  whose  ferocity  and  stealth  made 
the  name  of  Indian  execrated. 

(1)  They  tortured  the  Jesuit  missionaries  in  Canada. 

(2)  etc.,  etc. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  183 

B.  The  representation  of  certain  Indians  as  having  noble  traits  is 
warranted  by  history. 

1.  The  common  ignoring  of  such  traits  among  the  Indians 
is  no  proof  of  their  absence. 

a.  Many  writers  have  been  prejudiced  by  experiences 
with  later  Indians  degraded  by  contact  with  civilization. 

(1)  It  is  prejudice  to  assert  that  Uncas  is  made  too 
noble  because  he  is  not  like  the  blanket  Indians  of  our  reservations. 

2.  Indian  fidelity  is  well  attested. 
a.  (Give  instances  from  history.) 

3.  4,  5,  etc.    (Estabhsh  other  noble  qualities;  e.^.,  fortitude, 
generosity,  eloquence.) 

6.  The  proverbial  Indian  treachery  is  insufficient  to  prove 
the  contrary. 

a.  Treachery  must  not  be  confused  with  cunning. 

(1)  Cunning  has  not  in  other  races  precluded  noble 

qualities.         /  v  /^.      .    .  x 

(a)  (Give  mstances.) 

(2)  Cunning  is  demanded  by  warfare  in  general,  and 
especially  by  the  necessities  of  Indian  warfare. 

6.  Cooper  is  warranted  by  history  in  making  treachery 
a  vice,  not  of  all  Indians,  but  of  certain  individuals  and  tribes. 

c.  Indian  treachery  arose  in  many  cases  from  extreme 
provocation. 

7.  The  assertion  that  Indians  as  a  race  are  incapable  of 
much  rehgious  development  is  insufficient  to  prove  the  contrary. 

a.  Some  Indians  have  developed  religiously. 

b.  The  failure  of  the  race  to  develop  religiously  as  a  race 
is  not  always,  nor  altogether,  to  their  discredit. 

(1)  Missionary  efforts  have  often  been  misdirected. 

(2)  Indians  have  had  too  much  reason  to  distrust  all 
agents  of  the  white  man. 

C.  The  assertion  that  Cooper^ s  Indians  are  stage  Indians  is  not 
in  point. 

1.  It  is  putting  the  cart  before  the  horse. 

o.  Whatever  likeness  exists  between  Cooper's  Indians 
»nd  those  seen  in  popular  melodrama  is  due  to  imitation  of  Cooper. 


184  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

2.  We  are  to  judge,  not  imitations  of  Cooper,  but  Cooper 
himself. 

BRIEF  FOR  THE  NEGATIVE 

A.  Cooper's  Indians  are  superior  morally  to  the  Indians  of  his- 
tory, 

1.  Cooper  shows  little  of  the  characteristic  Indian  defects, 
a.  The  most  characteristic  Indian  vice  is  intemperance. 
6.  The  Indians'  treatment  of  their  women  at  once  marks 

their  moral  inferiority. 

c.  Indian  treachery  was  more  general  than  we  should 
suppose  from  reading  Cooper. 

(1)  (Give  testimony  of  explorers  and  soldiers.) 

2.  Indian  bravery  has  very  little  moral  quality. 

a.  They  always  preferred  ambush,   surprise,   and  out- 
numbering. 

h.  Their  fortitude  was  that  of  animals  at  bay. 

3.  Cooper's  bad   Indians   are   not   enough   to   prove  the 
contrary. 

a.  The  general  impression  left  by  his  books  is  that  the 
Indians  of  those  times  were  higher  morally  than  in  fact  they  were. 

4.  Missionary  efforts  among  Indians  of  Cooper's  time  were 
generally  fruitless. 

a.  Conversions  were  superficial,  and  Indian  Christianity 
mainly  nominal. 

B.  Cooper's  Indians   are   superior   mentally   to   the  Indians   of 
history, 

1.  The  most  characteristic  mental  trait  of  the  actual  Indians 
of  those  times  was  savage  childishness. 

a.  They  could  always  be  swayed  by  a  little  tinsel  and 
glitter 

(1)  They  gave  land  for  beads. 
6.  Their  so-called  dignity  was  mere  lack  of  expression. 

2.  The  actual  Indian  has  never  shown  much  foresight, 
a.  His  cunning  is  ofia  low  order. 

(1)  He  has  been  repeatedly  and  easily  deceived. 
6.  He  has  never  shown  himself  capable  of  large  plans. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  185 

3.  So-called  Indian  oratory  is  no  proof  of  the  contrary. 

a,  Indian  speeches  are  remarkable  principally  for  bombast. 

4.  Modem  progress  of  Indians  in  education  is  no  proof  of 
the  contrary. 

a.  It  was  late  and  slow. 

(1)  Very  few  full-blood  Indians  have  advanced  far 
even  to-day. 

(2)  The  tendency  to  relapse  to  nomadic  Ufe  has  reap- 
peared again  and  again. 

b.  The  Indians  of  the  time  of  Cooper's  novels  had  not 
even  begun  this  progress. 

C.  Cooper  constantly  casts  over  Indian  life  a  false  glamour  of  ro* 
mance. 

1.  Indian  life  in  reality  was  narrow,  mean,  and  sordid, 
a.  It  was  a  hand-to-mouth  existence. 

(1)  It  made  no  provision  for  the  future. 

(2)  It  was  subject  to  famine  and  sickness. 

6.  It  was  conspicuously  lacking  in  that  noble  freedom 
and  security  which  are  so  attractive  in  Cooper's  novels. 

(1)  Indian  hfe  was  not  the  life  of  boys  on  a  camping 
trip. 

2.  The  justification  of  Cooper's  representations  as  making 
his  books  more  interesting  is  not  in  point. 

a.  This  argument  begs  the  question. 

(1)  The  question  is  not  why  the  books  are  not  true 
to  life,  but  whether  they  are  true  or  not. 

(N.  B.  This  brief  is  merely  an  oviline  of  main  considerations. 
Actual  discussion  of  this  subject  requires  that  these  should  be  supported  by 
an  abundance  of  details,  on  the  one  hand  from  Cooper's  novels,  on  the 
other  from  recognized  authorities  on  Indian  life  and  character.) 

Proposition 
The  United  States  should  have  a  large  navy. 

EXPOSITORY    STATEMENT 

The  proposition  presupposes  that  our  navy  now  is  not  large; 
I.e.,  it  contemplates  a  change  of  policy  looking  toward  the  making 


186  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

of  our  navy  approximately  equal  in  numbers  to  that  of  any  nation 
which  is  recognized  as  having,  or  planning  to  have,  a  large  navy. 
It  deals,  not  directly  with  the  efficiency  of  our  navy,  but  rather 
with  its  size. 

BRIEF  FOR  THE  AFFIRMATIVE 

A.  The  objection  on  the  ground  of  expense  is  insufficient, 

1.  A  large  navy  would  be  our  cheapest  defense  in  the  end. 
o.  We  must  otherwise  greatly  increase  our  standing  army. 

b.  A  large  standing  army  is  more  costly  than  a  large 

navy. 

c.  Really  adequate  coast  defenses,   if  we  concede  the 

possibility  of  making  coast  defenses  adequate,  would  cost  no  less 
than  a  large  navy. 

d.  The  cost  of  a  large  navy  should  be  reckoned  as  insur- 
ance. 

(1)  The  damage  that  might  be  inflicted  by  a  hostile 

fleet  would  be  far  more  costly  than  the  largest  of  navies. 

2.  The  country  is  well  able  to  bear  the  expense  of  a  large 
navy. 

B.  A  large  navy  is  demanded  for  the  protection  of  our  own  coasts. 

1.  Our  coast-line  is miles. 

2.  We  are  open  to  attack  from  either  the  east  or  the  west. 

3.  Our  largest  cities  are  on  our  coasts  or  navigable  water- 
ways. 

4.  Coast    defenses   are   inadequate    against    modem   war 
vessels. 

5.  The  Panama  Canal  will  not  meet  this  need. 

a.  The  canal  itself  will  need  protection  in  time  of  war. 

C.  A  large  navy  is  demanded  by  our  interests  abroad, 

1.  The  growth  of  our  foreign  interests  has  far  outstripped 
that  of  our  navy. 

2.  The  old  arguments  against  a  large  navy  no  longer  hold 

good. 

a.  We  are  no  longer  an  isolated  power. 

(1)  Our  foreign  possessions  have  brought  us  into  world 

politics. 

h»  Our  foreign  commerce  is  enormous  and  increasing. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  187 

3.  Our  distant  possessions  need  protection. 

a.  (Show  that  Hawaii  needs  protection.) 

b.  (Show  that  the  Phihppines  need  protection.) 

4.  The  situation  in  the  East  may  at  any  time  become  dan- 
gerous to  us. 

a.  The  partition  of  China  may  precipitate  a  world  war. 
6.  A  war  with  Japan  must  be  reckoned  with. 

(1)  Japan  is  very  formidable,  and  is  increasing  in 

strength. 

(2)  Japan  is  our  commercial  rival,  especially  in  the 

trade  with  the  East. 

(3)  Japan  has  already  clashed  with  us. 

(a)  The  dispute  over  Japanese  children  in  the 
San  Francisco  public  schools  was  no  slight  matter. 

(4)  Japan  is  extremely  proud  and  sensitive. 

5.  We  need  a  large  navy  for  the  maintenance  of  the  Monroe 
Doctrine. 

a.  We  must  maintain  this  for  our  own  interests. 
6.  We  must  maintain  this  for  the  interests  of  the  South 
American  states. 

c.  We  cannot  maintain  it  without  a  large  navy. 

(1)  It  is  not  a  recognized  part  of  international  law. 

(2)  The  interests  of  other  nations  in  South  America 
are  in  some  cases  larger  than  ours. 

(a)  In  general,  European  nations  have  more  com- 
merce with  South  America  than  we. 

(6)  In  particular,  Germany  has  large  interests  in 
Brazil,  not  only  through  commerce,  but  through  thousands  of 
German  colonists  there. 

(3)  The  blockade  of  the  ports  of  Venezuela  by  foreign 
warships  is  a  case  in  point. 

D.   The  argument  from  the  improbability  of  war  is  insufficient. 

1.  A  large  navy  is  the  best  safeguard  of  peace. 

2.  General  international  arbitration  is  still  remote. 

a.  The  Hague  Tribunal  has  no  power  to  enforce  its  deci- 
sions. 

3.  Japan  and  Russia  recently  fought  a  terrible  war. 


188  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

4.  We  ourselves  recently  fought  with  Spain. 

5.  War  with  Japan  is  by  no  means  improbable. 

a.  (See  above.) 

BRIEF  FOR  THE   NEGATIVE 

A.  A  large  navy  is  contrary  to  our  historic  policy, 

1.  We  have  never  maintained  a  war  footing. 

2.  The  argument  that  our  historic  policy  is  antiquated  in 
view  of  our  increased  foreign  interests  is  unsound. 

o.  We  have  entered  and  maintained  these  foreign  inter- 
ests without  protest  from  foreign  nations. 

b.  It  has  always  been,  and  is  now,  an  advantage  to  us 
in  foreign  relations  that  we  are  known  to  maintain  a  peace  footing 
as  distinct  from  the  war  footing  of  other  nations. 

c.  We  still  have  no  ''entangling  alhances." 

d.  Our  foreign  interests  create  no  probability  of  war. 

(1)  There  is  no  evidence  that  any  other  power  desires 
the  Philippines. 

(2)  We  are  not  menaced  l^y  the  partition  of  China. 

(a)  This  is  made  yearly  less  probable  by  the  grow- 
ing strength  of  China. 

(b)  Our  only  interest  in  China  is  in  assisting  to 
keep  the  ''open  door." 

3.  The  argument  that  the  policy  of  a  large  navy  is  already 
justified  by  the  recent  increase  of  our  navy  is  unsound. 

a.  Our  present  navy  bears  about  the  same  proportion 
to  the  large  navies  of  other  powers  and  to  our  total  coast  line  and 
territory  as  before. 

6.  The  negative  may  admit  an  increase  of  our  navy 
proportional  to  the  increase  of  our  coast  line  and  territory. 

(1)  Such  increase  would  not  make  our  navy  large,  as 
navies  go. 

B.  Competition  in  number  of  ships  with  other  powers  would  be 
either  futile  or  burdensome,     ^ 

1.  Unless  we  built  ship  for  ship,  like  Japan,  we  should  be 
little  better  off. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  189 

a.  We  must  choose  between  a  peace  footing  and  a  war 
footing. 

2.  To  build  ship  for  ship  involves  great  increase  of  taxation, 
o.  Japan  is  ground  down  by  taxes. 

(1)  Taxes  for  military  establishment  keep  down  the 
standard  of  living  in  Japan. 

b.  In  1907  the  British  navy  cost  more  than  half  as  much 
again  as  ours. 

c.  The  ship-for-ship  policy  opens  the  way  for  extrava- 
gance with  public  money. 

3.  The  argument  that  a  large  navy  promotes  peace  is  in- 
sufficient. 

o.  We  may  better  seek  peace  by  keeping  a  peace  basis. 

(1)  We  have  followed  this  policy  successfully  through 
all  our  history. 

(2)  The  Roman  proverb,  ''In  time  of  peace  prepare 
for  war,"  does  not  apply. 

(a)  In    those   warlike    times    and    that    warlike 
nation,  peace  meant  merely  the  interval  between  wars. 
6.  A  large  navy  fosters  a  warlike  spirit. 

C.  A  large  navy  is  not  warranted  by  danger  of  war. 

1.  The  tendency  of  our  time  is  increasingly  toward  world 

peace. 

a.  This  is  strikingly  shown  by  the  Hague  Tribunal. 

(1)  The   argument   that   the   Hague   Tribunal   lacks 
power  is  insufficient. 

(a)  It  has  great  and  increasing  influence. 
(6)  It  has  made  substantial  progress  in  decreas- 
ing readiness  to  resort  to  war. 

6.  Arbitration  treaties  are  more  and  more  common. 

2.  The  affirmative   cannot  show  definite  probability  of   a 
war  with  any  foreign  power. 

a.  War  with  Japan  was  never  probable. 

(1)  The  war  talk  was  confined  to  sensational  news- 
papers in  both  countries. 

(2)  The  idea  was  repudiated  by  the  statesmen  of 
both  countries. 


190  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

b.  War  with  Japan  is  highly  improbable. 

(1)  Japan  would  have  nothing  to  gain  and  every- 
thing to  lose. 

(2)  Japan  would  hardly  dare  to  send  a  fleet  to  our 

Pacific  coast. 

(a)    She  has  no  coaling  stations  on  this  side  of 

the  Pacific. 

3.  The  maintenance  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine  does  not  de- 
mand a  large  navy. 

o.  The  doctrine  is  already  respected  and  accepted. 

(1)  It  is  generally  recognized  as  best  for  international 
interests. 

D.  A  large  navy  can  be  built  and  maintained  only  at  the  sacrifice 
of  more  important  interests, 

1.  The  most  important  general  interest  of  our  country  is 
the  standard  of  living,  and  this  is  directly  affected  by  taxation. 

2.  Without  large  increase  in  taxation  a  large  navy  could 
not  be  built  except  by  hampering  the  development  of  our  internal 
resources. 

a.  E,g,f  the  federal  government  has  now  in  hand  large 
projects  of  irrigation. 

3.  Even  our  foreign  relations  can  be  served  better  without  a 
large  navy. 

a.  There  is  great  need  of  larger  appropriations  for  our 
consular  and  diplomatic  service. 

Proposition    . 
United  States  senators  should  be  elected  by  direct  vote  of  the  people 

EXPOSITORY   STATEMENT 

(to  be  supplied  by  the  student) 

SKELETON   BRIEF   FOR  THE   AFFIRMATIVE 

A.   The  essential  and  valuable  functions  of  the  Senate  would  be 
conserved  under  direct  election. 

1.  (Enumerate  the  objeqjbs  of  the  Senate  in  our  system  of 
government,  one  by  one,  so  as  to  show  that  some  of  the  most 
important  are  independent  of  the  method  of  election.) 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  191 

2.  The  idea  of  the  Senate  as  a  check  on  the  House  has  not 
been  justified  by  experience. 

a.  The  Senate  has  sometimes  been  less  conservative 
than  the  House. 

6.  The  Senate,  instead  of  merely  checking  haste  and 
rashness  in  the  House,  has  sometimes  thwarted  the  mature  judg- 
ment of  the  nation. 

B.  Direct  election  would  remedy  certain  positive  evils  in  the  Senate. 

1.  (Enumerate  evils;  e.g.y  deadlocks  in  State  legislatures, 
docility  of  the  Senate  to  corporate  interests.) 

2.  These  evils  arise  from  the  method  of  election. 

3.  The  proposed  change  would  remedy  them. 

C.  Direct  election  would  generally  improve  our  politics, 

1.  The  people  desire  it. 

2.  It  would  make  the  State  legislatures  more  efficient  for 
State  business. 

3.  It  would  improve  the  character  of  the  Senate. 

4.  The  success  of  our  system  of  government  depends  on 
the  responsibility  of  the  people,  and  of  their  representatives  to 
them. 

SKELETON   BRIEF  FOR  THE   NEGATIVE 

A.  Direct  election  is  contrary  to  the  Constitutional  purposes  of 
the  Senate. 

1.  The  peculiar  value  of  the  Senate  depends  on  its  indirect 
responsibility. 

a.  Direct  election  would  make  it  a  second  House. 
h,    (Rebuttal  of  affirmative  A.) 

B.  Direct  election  is  unnecessary. 

1.  The  original  idea  of  the  Senate  has  been  approved  by 
history. 

2.  The  evils  alleged  are  not  inherent  in  the  method  of 
election. 

a.  They  would  remain  under  direct  election  to  at  least 
the  same  degree. 

C.  Direct  election  is  dangerous. 

1.  No  pure  democracy  has  ever  survived. 


192  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

2.  New  political  evils  would  arise. 

3.  The  present  system  best  embodies  the  permanent  strength 
of  an  effective  democracy. 

Other  outline  briefs  may  be  adapted  from  Ring  wait's  Briefs  on 
Public  Questions  (Longmans,  Green,  and  Co.). 

Adaptation  of  the  Brief  to  Analysis  of  Exposition.  —  Every 
course  of  argument  consists  of  two  processes:  (1)  statement 
of  facts,  or  explanation;  (2)  drawing  conclusions  from  facts, 
or  inference.  The  former  is  exposition;  the  latter,  argu- 
ment proper.  In  the  former  we  are  telUng  what  the  facts 
are,  and  grouping  them  only  to  make  clearer  what  every 
one  admits  concerning  them;  in  the  latter  we  are  grouping 
the  facts  to  show  what  we  believe,  and  wish  others  to  believe, 
that  they  prove.  By  this  is  not  meant  that  every  argument 
must  begin  with  exposition,  nor  that  exposition  and  argu- 
ment are  entirely  distinct.  Exposition  may,  indeed,  be 
used  as  a  separate  and  introductory  stage  before  argument 
proper  begins;  and  many  disputes  are  clarified  by  a  pre- 
liminary agreement  as  to  what  the  undisputed  facts  are 
and  what  the  words  mean  in  which  they  are  discussed. 
But,  in  general,  statement  of  facts  and  inference  from  facts, 
exposition,  and  argument,  are  constantly  intermingled.  As 
we  find  facts,  we  can  hardly  help  drawing  conclusions  from 
them;  as  we  argue,  we  must  often  stop  to  explain.  Nor 
should  we  try  to  be  always  either  purely  expository  or 
purely  argumentative.  This  would  unduly  hamper  the 
natural  impulses  of  thought  and  speech.  But  we  should 
clearly  distinguish.  We  should  know  when  we,  or  our 
opponents,  are  stating  facts;  when  we  or  they  are  drawing 
conclusions.  Otherwise  we  cannot  analyze  a  course  of 
argument  or  discern  how  to  meet  it.  We  must  not  let 
pass,  in  reading  or  debate,  as  mere  statement  of  fact  what 
conceals  an  inference  that  ^  may  be  disputed.  Statement 
and  proof  may  be  mingled;  but  they  must  not  be  confused. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  193 

What  is  put  forward  as  mere  statement  of  facts  sometimes 
implies  certain  inferences  that  ought  to  be  challenged. 
Every  one  who  wishes  to  gain  power  in  argument  must 
accustom  himself  to  distinguish  between  the  two.  He  must 
neither  ignore,  nor  let  others  ignore,  in  debate  this  funda- 
mental distinction.  He  must  learn  to  estimate  facts  as  facts, 
according  to  the  authority  upon  which  they  are  asserted; 
inferences  as  inferences,  according  to  the  logic  with  which 
they  are  inferred.  (For  examples  of  pure  exposition,  see 
the  preliminary  statements  at  pages  182  and  185;  for  tests 
of  the  logic  of  inference,  pages  203-206.) 

This  distinction  between  exposition  and  argument  proper 
affects  the  use,  in  one  or  the  other,  of  the  brief,  or  plan  of 
analysis  outUned  above.  When  this  plan  is  used  merely  to 
group  facts  for  exposition,  it  does  not  require  that  every 
point  should  go  to  prove  the  point  next  above  it.  A  sup- 
porting point  in  such  a  plan  for  expos^ion  may  be  merely 
one  part  or  aspect  of  its  main  point;  or  it  may  be  merely 
an  illustration,  or  even  an  exception.  The  plan  need  not 
even  be  cast  throughout  in  sentences.  The  plan  of  this 
chapter,  for  instance,  in  the  table  of  contents,  though  it 
could  readily  be  cast  in  sentences  throughout,  would  gain 
nothing  thereby  in  clearness;  for  I  am  not  trying  to  prove 
anything,  only  to  explain.  But  when  the  brief  system  is 
applied  to  argument,  then  only  one  relation  is  admissible. 
Every  fact  must  go  to  prove  the  inference  under  which  it 
is  grouped;  every  inference  in  turn  must  go  to  prove  the 
larger  inference  next  above  it.  In  every  case,  the  relation 
of  larger  part  to  smaller  is  the  single  relation  expressed  by 
the  conjunction  /or,  until  we  come  down  to  the  facts.  These 
are  at  the  bottom  of  all.  We  must  be  sure  that  they  are 
facts;  else  the  superstructure  of  inference  will  fall.  The 
very  form  of  the  plan,  then,  may  show  the  difference  be- 
tween stating  and  proving. 
14 


194  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

In  the  following  brief  of  a  part  of  Burke's  speech  on  Concilia- 
Hon  with  America  notice  this  difference  between  the  more  expos- 
itory parts  A  and  C,  and  the  more  strictly  argumentative  parts  B 
and  D.  In  the  former,  clearness  is  increased  by  expressing  the 
supporting  parts  as  concisely  as  possible  in  phrases;  in  the  latter, 
the  bearing  of  fact  on  argument,  and  of  argument  on  larger  argu- 
ment, needs  to  be  shown  exactly  and  fully  by  summing  up  each 
part  in  a  sentence.  When  the  whole  composition  is  expository, 
the  brief  may  be  cast  largely  in  phrases,  like  the  expository  parts 
A  and  C  below;  but  where  the  bearing  would  be  in  the  least 
doubtful,  the  brief  should  resort  to  sentences  even  in  exposition. 

BURKE'S  SPEECH  ON  CONCILIATION   WITH  AMERICA 

(1775) 

Proposition 
Great  Britain  should  concede  to  the  demands  of  her  American  col- 
onies for  representation, 

A.  Conciliation  is  warranted  by  the  importance  of  the  colonies, 

1.  in  population, 
o.  two  millions. 

2.  in  commerce. 

a.  now  almost  equal  to  the  total  commerce  of  Great 
Britain  seventy  years  ago. 

b.  in  Pennsylvania  increased  fifty-fold  in  the  same  period. 

3.  in  agriculture. 

4.  in  fisheries. 

B.  Force  will  not  answer, 

1.  It  is  temporary. 

2.  It  is  uncertain. 

3.  It  impairs  its  own  object. 

4.  It  is  contrary  to  experience. 

C.  Conciliation  is  demanded  by  an  American  spirit  of  liberty 
rooted  in  ^ 

1.  English  descent. 

2.  provincial  assemblies. 


CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION  196 

3.  dissent  in  the  northern  colonies. 

4.  slave-owning  in  the  southern  colonies. 

5.  fondness  for  legal  studies. 

6.  remoteness. 

D.  Conciliation  is  the  only  feasible  plan, 

1.  Only  three  courses  are  open: 

a.  to  remove  the  causes  of  the  American  spirit  of  liberty. 

b.  to  prosecute  it  as  criminal. 

c.  to  comply  with  it  as  necessary. 

2.  To  remove  the  causes  is  impossible. 

a.  To  stop  grants  of  land  would  be  idle. 

(1)  There  is  plenty  of  land  already  granted. 

(2)  The  people  would  occupy  without  grants. 
6.  We  cannot  alter  their  descent. 

c.  To  check  their  commerce  would  be  preposterous. 
(1)  We  should  thereby  harm  ourselves. 

d.  To  repress  their  religion  is  impracticable. 

(1)  The  only  means  to  this  end  are  execrable. 

(2)  Such  means  would  also  be  insufficient. 

e.  To  enfranchise  the  Southern  slaves  would  not  serve 

our  turn. 

(1)  The  slaves  might  refuse. 

(2)  Their  masters  might  arm  them. 
/.  We  cannot  pump  the  ocean  dry. 

3.  To  prosecute  the  colonies  as  criminal  is  impracticable. 

a.  We  cannot  indict  a  whole  people. 

b.  It  would  subvert  the  very  idea  of  our  Empire. 

c.  We  should  have  to  be  both  prosecutor  and  judge. 

d.  It  is  inconsistent  with  our  procedure  toward  Massa- 
chusetts. 

/.  Our  penal  laws  against  the  colonies  have  failed. 

E.  etc.  (to  be  carried  out  by  the  student). 

Draw  up  a  brief  for  a  speech  or  essay  on  The  Ideal  Public  School 
Building.  The*  theme  being  mainly  expository,  most  of  the  divi- 
sions may  be  expressed  in  words  or  phrases;  e.g.: 


196  CLEARNESS  IN  COMPILATION 

D,   Ventilation, 

1.  natural. 

a.  rooms  not  crowded, 
6.  large  windows, 

2.  artificial. 
o.  etc. 

But  use  sentences  wherever  you  argue  a  disputed  point,  and  wher^ 
ever  else  the  bearing  might  not  otherwise  be  quite  clear;  e.g,: 

F.  Beauty, 

1.  The  objection  that  beauty  is  not  necessary  is  insufficient. 

a.  American  public  schools  are  not  confined  strictly  to 
necessaries. 

(1)  Some  studies  have  little  practical  use. 

(2)  Playgrounds  are  not  strictly  necessary. 

b.  Beauty  in  the  school  building  is  of  benefit  to  the 
whole  community. 

(1)  Most  of  our  citizens  are  educated  in  public  schools. 

(2)  Daily  association  with  meanness  and  ugliness 
narrows  the  mind;  with  things  of  beauty,  expands  the  mind. 

(3)  The  benefit  is  greatest  to  the  poorer  children. 

(a)  These  see  little  beauty  at  home. 

(4)  School  buildings  ought  to  be  made  beautiful  on 
the  same  principle  by  which  public  parks  and  monuments  are 
made  beautiful. 

2.  Beauty  of  architecture  is  entirely  consistent  with  utility. 
a.  etc. 

3.  (expository)  Suggestions  for  beauty  of  decoration. 

Draw  up  a  brief  for  a  speech  or  essay  on  one  of  the  following; 

The  Ideal  College  Dormitory. 

The  Harvard  Union. 

The  Princeton  System  of  Preceptors. 

Student  Management  of  Athletics. 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  the  Colleges. 

Co-education  in  State  Universities. 

The  Study  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  College. 

(For  other  subjects  see  Chapter  vii.) 


CHAPTER  VII 

CLEARNESS  AND  INTEREST  IN  EXTENDED  ARGtT- 
MENT  AND   EXPOSITION 

For  themes  in  connection  with  the  first  part  of  this  chapter,  see  the 
head  note  to  Chapter  vi.  Themes  in  connection  with  §2  should 
he  expositions  as  prescribed  in  the  text. 

1.  THE  ORAL  PRESENTATION  OF  FACTS 

Brief  and  Paragraph  Plan.  —  The  kind  of  plan  that  we 
have  been  considering,  the  index  plan  or  brief,  is  a  plan  of 
analysis.  Its  purpose  is  to  classify  the  results  of  study 
for  reference,  not  to  arrange  them  in  the  best  order  for 
presentation.  This  latter  purpose  it  rarely  serves  well. 
Sometimes  such  a  plan  of  analysis  is  used  without  any 
intention  of  speaking  or  writing,  merely  for  study.  Stu- 
dents use  it,  for  instance,  to  classify  their  notes  of  reading 
in  history.  More  often  it  is  used  in  preparing  to  speak  or 
write;  but  in  that  case  it  is  only  the  second  stage  of  prepara- 
tion, not  the  final  stage.  The  first  stage  is  to  take  notes; 
the  second  stage  is  to  classify  notes;  the  final  stage  is  to 
make  a  plan,  not  merely  for  classification,  but  for  effective 
presentation;  and  this  last  is  a  plan  by  paragraphs.  No  one 
can  argue  effectively  by  merely  speaking  off,  or  writing  off, 
his  brief  as  it  stands.  To  rehearse  a  brief,  merely  putting  in 
connectives,  is  to  be  formal  and  dull.  The  brief  tells  a  de- 
bater just  how  a  certain  fact  or  argument  comes  in.  He 
knows  where  it  is  among  his  notes.  He  can  put  his  finger 
on  it.     But  the  brief  does  not  always  tell  him  at  what  point 

197 


198  ARGUMENT 

in  the  course  of  his  speech  he  can  use  that  fact  most  effect- 
ively; it  does  not  determine  the  order  of  his  paragraphs. 
The  brief,  for  instance,  always  puts  the  main  conclusion 
first,  the  supporting  reasons  afterwards;  but  often,  for  effect- 
ive speaking  or  writing,  the  better  order  would  be  just  the 
reverse;  often  we  gain  by  leading  up  to  a  conclusion  rather 
than  by  announcing  it  before  we  prove  it.  Again,  the  brief 
takes  no  account  of  iteration  and  of  bringing  home  at  the 
close.  Nor  does  the  brief  tell  always  how  to  proportion  the 
space.  One  of  the  subordinate  points  in  the  brief — subor- 
dinate in  the  sense  of  proving  a  point  indirectly  —  may  de- 
serve more  time  than  a  main  point.  The  main  points,  of 
course,  are  the  main  things  to  bring  out;  but,  since  they 
depend  on  the  reasons  written  under  them  in  the  brief,  it 
sometimes  takes  longer  to  establish  these  supporting  reasons 
than  to  draw  the  conclusion.  Finally,  the  brief  is  often  too 
elaborate  to  speak  from.  A  speech  needs  a  fairly  simple 
plan  in  order  to  be  followed.  All  this  means,  not  that 
the  brief  system  is  defective,  but  that  it  is  not  meant  to 
speak  or  write  from.  It  is  adapted  rather  to  studying  a 
subject  than  to  presenting.  No  single  plan  can  thoroughly 
well  serve  both  these  purposes  when  the  reading  required 
is  at  all  extensive.  Therefore  it  is  better,  after  making  a 
brief,  to  make  also  a  paragraph  plan.  The  brief  has  settled 
the  classification;  the  paragraph  plan  will  settle  the  order 
of  presentation. 

Nor  is  the  making  of  two  plans  a  waste  of  time.  Really 
it  is  economical  to  do  these  two  things  separately  instead 
of  jumbling  them  together.  And  the  two  plans  will  not 
differ  entirely.  The  order  of  main  points  will  probably  be 
the  same  in  both;  it  is  only  the  supporting  points  that  are 
likely  to  need  rearrangement^  But  the  paragraphs  should 
be  planned  without  reference  to  the  numbers  of  the  brief, 
A  with  all  its  sub-headings  may,  perhaps,  go  well  into  one 


ARGUMENT  199 

paragraph,  while  1  under  B,  perhaps,  needs  a  paragraph  to 
itself,  or  even  h  under  2  under  B,  In  planning  paragraphs 
we  are  planning  stages  by  which  to  lead  our  hearers  along 
steadily.  We  are  thinking  solely  of  the  coherence  of  the 
whole  and  of  the  amplification^  needed  by  a  given  part. 
By  disregarding  the  divisions  of  the  brief,  which  were  made 
for  another  purpose,  we  set  ourselves  free  to  think  solely 
of  effective  order.  First,  plan  a  brief  to  classify  the  notes; 
then  plan  the  paragraphs  by  which  to  carry  on  the  speech. 
Review  Chapter  iii. 

Compare  the  following  plan  by  paragraphs  with  the  brief  of 
the  same  subject  at  page  175. 

Licenses  from  (he  Board  of  Aldermen  should  be  required  of  aU 
newsboys  in  this  city, 

I.  Many  of  our  newsboys  are  too  young  to  work  on  the  streets 
without  harm  to  health  and  education. 

II.  The  harm  to  their  morals  still  more  emphatically  urges 
some  restriction  upon  this  form  of  child  labor. 

III.  The  newsboys'  parents  are  generally  too  poor  or  too  igno- 
rant to  protect  them. 

IV.  Therefore  the  State  must  step  in,  just  as  it  does  in  the 
case  of  child  labor  in  factories. 

V.  Without  this  further  restriction,  the  wise  law  of  compulsory 
schooling  is  in  many  cases  of  no  avail. 

VI.  The  risk  of  hardship  to  individuals  is  slight. 

VII.  The  ordinance  proposed  is  wiser  than  a  general  law  set- 
ting an  age  limit. 

VIII.  The  additional  burden  of  taxation  is  nothing  compared 
to  the  gain  of  the  boys. 

IX.  The  strongest  consideration  is  that  imless  we  save  these 
boys  now,  we  shall  endanger  our  whole  conununity  in  the  future. 

Make  a  similar  plan  by  paragraphs  *  for  one  of  the  subjects  of 
the  specimen  briefs  in  the  preceding  chapter.     Such  a  written 
plan  by  paragraphs  will  be  required  as  a  preliminary  to  each 
1  See  pages  74-82. 


200  ARGUMENT 

theme.  The  progress  of  thought  from  paragraph  to  paragraph 
should  be  shown  by  the  conjunctions  or  repeated  words  that  con- 
nect the  subject-sentences  m  the  plan. 

Statement  and  Proof.  —  We  have  seen  (page  192)  that 
every  course  of  argument  consists  of  two  processes:  (1)  state- 
ment of  facts,  or  exposition;  and  (2)  inference  from  facts,  or 
argument  proper.  Though  these  two  processes  are  naturally 
intermingled,  they  must  be  distinguished.  Moreover,  state- 
ment of  a  set  of  facts  without  argument,  statement  con- 
fined strictly  to  exposition,  is  sometimes  of  distinct  value  to 
both  speaker  and  hearer.  There  are  cases  in  which  we  like 
to  have  before  us  whatever  is  admitted  by  both  sides  to  be 
fact,  before  we  consider  how  each  side  uses  these  facts  in 
argument.  There  are  cases  in  which  it  is  an  advantage  to 
prepare  the  way  for  our  arguments  by  preliminary  exposi- 
tion. And  even  where  this  is  unnecessary  as  a  distinct  part  of 
the  presentation,  it  is  often  profitable  to  the  speaker  himself 
as  an  exercise  in  discrimination.  The  ability  to  discriminate 
between  statement  and  proof,  between  what  is  admitted  and 
what  must  be  argued,  is  directly  cultivated  by  practice  in 
writing  such  a  statement  of  facts  ^s  will  be  admitted  to  be 
free  from  bias.  Such  practice,  by  clearing  the  ground,  helps 
a  debater  to  see  the  main  issues.  By  putting  aside  what  he 
may  take  for  granted,  he  comes  more  squarely  face  to  face 
with  what  he  must  establish  and  what  he  must  overthrow. 

As  part  of  preparation  for  a  debate  on  the  justifiability  of  our 
war  with  Mexico,  draw  up  a  purely  expository  summary  of  im- 
portant events  before  the  formal  declaration  of  hostilities.  Include 
no  event  that  is  not  accepted  as  a  fact  by  two  standard  histories. 
Arrange  this  summary  in  the  order  of  time.  Mention  two  points 
on  which  authorities  differ  as  to  facts,  or  on  which  the  facts  are 
not  surely  known;  and  indicate  as  to  each  of  these  points  which 
authority  you  decide  to  follow.  Now  analyze  this  material  in  a 
brief,  without  grouping  in  such  a  way  as  to  argue. 


ARGUMENT  201 

In  addition  to  the  subjects  suggested  in  the  previous  chapter, 
the  following  may  be  used  for  practice  in  preliminary  statement 
of  facts  with  a  view  to  clearing  the  ground  by  making  plain  the 
main  issue  or  issues. 

1.  General  Gates  should  have  been,  as  he  was,  put  in  supreme 
command  of  the  American  forces  before  the  battle  of  Saratoga. 

2.  Washington  should  have  pardoned  Major  Andre. 

3.  The  execution  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  was  justifiable. 

4.  High-school  secret  societies  should  be  abolished. 

5.  The  Fifteenth  Amendment  to  the  Constitution  has  been 
justified. 

6.  The  United  States  Post  Office  should  materially  increase 
the  weight-limit  for  merchandise,  and  decrease  the  rate. 

The  Three  Main  Ways  of  Arguing.  —  To  show  that  elec- 
tions to  the  United  States  Senate  should  be  by  direct  popular 
vote,  it  may  be  argued: 

1.  from  general  principle,  that  our  government  is  based 
on  the  idea  of  popular  representation; 

2.  from  facts,  that  the  present  indirect  method  of  elec- 
tion keeps  senators  from  being  directly  amenable  to  the 
will  of  the  people  of  their  states; 

3.  by  comparison,  that  the  British  House  jof  Lords  shows 
the  danger  of  a  privileged  body  able  to  obstruct  legislation 
demanded  by  a  large  majority  of  the  people. 

These  are  three  fundamental  ways  of  arguing.  The  first, 
arguing  from  general  principles,  is  called  deductiori;  the 
second,  arguing  from  the  facts  under  investigation,  is  called 
induction;  the  third,  arguing  from  a  parallel  case  outside, 
is  called  analogy.  To  apply  these  three  ways  on  the  other 
side  of  the  same  question,  it  may  be  argued: 

1.  by  deduction  from  general  principles,  that  the  under- 
lying ideas  of  our  Constitution  with  regard  to  representation 
are  (a)  to  represent  the  states  as  states,  not  merely  the 
people  as  a  whole,  and  (b)  to  maintain  a  system  of  checks 
and  balances; 


202  ARGUMENT 

2.  by  induction  from  the  facts  under  investigation,  that 
the  Senate  has  not  shown  itself  less  amenable  than  the 
House  to  the  will  of  a  majority  of  the  nation; 

3.  by  analogy  of  a  parallel  case  outside,  that  the  French 
Senate  shows  the  value  of  a  second  chamber  in  a  representa- 
tive repubUcan  government. 

Deduction,  —  All  these  three  ways  of  arguing  are  so  useful 
that,  instead  of  troubling  ourselves  as  to  which  is  best,  we 
should  try  to  use  all.  It  is  well  to  cultivate  all  ways  of 
arguing.  But  the  three  ways  are  not  equally  good  for 
every  case.  Some  propositions  depend  more  on  deduction 
because,  the  facts  being  imperfectly  known  or  hard  to  find, 
we  are  thrown  back  for  our  decision  on  the  general  principles 
or  ideas  under  which  we  have  come  to  group  our  previous 
knowledge.  Other  propositions  depend  more  on  induction 
because,  the  question  being  new,  our  previous  ideas  give 
us  comparatively  little  guidance.  As  to  analogy,  though 
it  may  be  used  in  almost  any  discussion,  it  is  never  sufficient 
by  itself.  So  again,  using  all  ways  in  a  given  discussion, 
we  may  use  them  at  different  stages  of  the  preparation. 
Deduction,  argument  from  previous  ideas,  is  most  useful 
^  in~looking  ahead,  as  we  sit  down  to  think.  It  helps  us  to 
/  question  ourselves  before  we  advance  to  another  stage  of 
reading  (see  page  166).  Being  argument  from  reflection,  it 
\J  is  most  useful  as  preliminary  or  preparatory.  It  forecasts 
the  probabilities  of  the  case.  Consequently  its  besetting 
danger  is  prejudice.  As  we  thus  survey  a  question  in  advance 
by  the  light  of  our  general  ideas,  we  must  not  try  to  settle  it 
in  advance  finally.  We  must  not  shut  our  eyes  to  other 
light.  We  must  keep  our  minds  open.  With  this  caution, 
we  may  always  profit  by  arguing  deductively  in  advance 
and  between  the  stages  of  research. 

j       In  form,  deduction  is  somewhat  like  that  method  of  paragraph 


ARGUMENT  203 

ject  as  a  general  principle,  and  carries  it  out  by  iteration.    Only, 
in  deductive  argument  the  general  principle  is  not  merely  re-  * 
stated;  it  is  proved. 

The  strictest  form  of  deductive  argument  is  always  reducible 
to  a  syllogism.    A  syllogism,  or  deductive  summary,  is  as  follows: 

Major  Premise.  All  immigrants  must  be  naturalized  in  order 
to  vote. 

Minor  Premise.    This  immigrant  has  not  been  naturalized. 

Conclusion.    This  immigrant  cannot  vote. 

In  ordinary  conversation  we  say  simply:  This  immigrant  can- 
not vote  because  he  has  not  been  naturalized. 

This  is  the  form  of  argument  followed  in  proving  a  proposition 
in  geometry.  The  argument  starts  from  a  truth,  already  estab- 
lished and  accepted,  called  the  major  premise.  It  proceeds  to 
prove  that  the  particular  proposition  in  question,  the  minor  premr- 
ise,  comes  within  the  scope  of  the  major  premise.  The  concLw- 
sion  follows  as  a  matter  of  course  J  A  deductive  argument  is  thus 
seen  to  consist  of  proving  that  the  particular  case  in  point  comes 
under  a  general  law.  In  this  sense  it  argues  from  the  general  to 
the  particular.  Iii  matters  of  ordinary  debate  we  cannot  estab- 
lish a  case  entirely  by  deduction,  for  the  simple  reason  that  we 
cannot  get  an  undisputed  major  premise.  Otherwise  the  ques- 
tion would  not  be  under  discussion;  it  would  no  longer  be  a  ques- 
tion, for  it  would  be  already  settled.  But  we  can  strengthen  a 
case  deductively  by  arguing  from  principles  which,  if  not  accepted 
universally,  are  yet  accepted  very  generally,  and  then  go  on  to 
argue  inductively  also. 

Moreover,  though  we  cannot  carry  on  a  course  of  argument  by 
syllogisms  without  becoming  formal  and  tedious,  we  can  apply  the 
syllogism  very  effectively  as  a  test.  Whenever  you  are  doubtful 
of  a  deductive  argument,  your  own  or  your  opponent's,  sum  it 
up  in  a  syllogism.  Then  you  can  see  what  it  amounts  to.  Then 
you  can  discover  whether  its  major  premise  is  really  a  generally 
accepted  principle  or  merely  a  loose,  popular  notion;  whether 
its  minor  premise  really  follows  from  the  major  premise  or  not. 
Test  the  following  by  putting  each  into  a  syllogism: 

1.  Don't  trust  him.    All  Indians  are  tricky. 


.V 


204  ARGUMENT 

2.  I  vote  against  this  bill  for  a  National  Health  Bureau  on  the 
ground  that  the  United  States  has  no  right  to  interfere  with  purely- 
local  affairs. 

3.  Cuba  ought  to  be  annexed  to  the  United  States  because 
Spanish  American  peoples  are  incapable  of  stable  self-government. 

4.  Employers  ought  to  be  liable  for  compensation  to  all  em- 
ployees injured  in  the  course  of  employment,  because  such  acci- 
dents are  part  of  the  inevitable  risks  of  industry. 

5.  Queen  Elizabeth's  laws  against  Roman  Cathohcs  were  wrong 
because  they  amounted  to  persecution. 

6.  I  will  not  pay  my  fare  unless  you  give  me  a  seat. 

Induction.  —  Induction  goes  the  other  way  about.  ,  It^ 
marshals  the  facts  collected  on  the  note-slips  so  as  to  make 
them  estabUsh  conclusions.  It^  groups  facts  to  make  proof. 
Here  are  two  processes,  both  requiring  care.  First,  the 
separate  facts  must  be  vouched  for  by  good  authority  (page 
169);  secondly,  the  grouping  of  them  must  not  be  forced, 
but  always  so  natural  as  to  be  readily  accepted.  To  this 
latter  end  we  must  have  facts  enough  to  make  any  disputed 
conclusion  clear,  and  we  must  be  ready  to  explain  any  well- 
known  facts  that  seem  exceptions.  In  other  words,  we  must 
beware  of  concluding  hastily,  and  we  must  take  due  account 
of  the  other  side.  For  instance,  in  reading  about  strikes  we 
have  found  that  in  a  street-railway  strike  at  Waterbury, 
Conn.,  the  strikers  resorted  to  violence,  that  violence  also 
occurred  in  the  strike  of  steel-workers  at  Homestead,  Pa., 
and  again  in  a  miners'  strike  in  Colorado.  If  we  conclude 
that  strikes  always  lead  to  violence,  our  opponents  will  bring 
17*  at  least  as  many  instances  to  the  contrary.  For  one  of 
the  greatest  services  of  debate  is  to  expose  hasty  inductions. 
The  caution  for  inductive  argument,  then,  is,  Don't  con- 
V  elude  hastily  from  a  few  f^cts.  Consider  the  facts  that 
make  against  your  conclusion  as  well  as  the  facts  that  make 
for  it;  and  modify  your  conclusion  accordingly.     Word  the 


ARGUMENT  205 

argument  under  which  you  group  your  facts  so  carefully 
that  no  one  can  fairly  object.  When  the  family  wash  has 
been  delayed  by  rain  on  three  successive  Mondays,  don^t 
say,  It  always  rains  on  Monday.  Don't  jump  at  conclu- 
sions. 

In  form,  inductive  argument  is  somewhat  like  that  method  of 
paragraph  development  which  supports  the  paragraph  subject  by 
instances.  Only,  m  inductive  argument,  the  instances  must  not 
merely  show  that  the  conclusion  is  sometimes  true;  they  must 
establish  a  probability  that  it  is  true  usually,  as  a  matter  of  cause 
and  effect.  In  using  instances  for  this  purpose,  a  very  effective 
Tdrm  of  induction  is  to  prove  by  absence  as  well  as  by  presence. 
We  may  try  to  show  that  the  United  States  should  retain  con- 
trol of  Cuba  by  giving  instances  of  prosperity  imder  our  control, 
such  as  increase  of  commerce,  improvement  of  roads  and  schools, 
etc.  If  we  can  also  show  that  these  have  declined  when  the 
United  States  withdrew,  the  inference  of  the  advantage  to  Cuba 
of  our  control  will  be  greatly  strengthened. 

Analogy.  —  Analogy  is  insufficient  to  establish  proof  by 
itself,  because  the  single  historical  case  on  which  the  argu- 
ment is  based  is  Ukely  to  reveal  some  points  of  difference. 
In  arguing  that  Cuba  will  gain  more  in  the  end  by  working 
out  its  own  civilization  independently  than  by  being  ab- 
sorbed into  the  United  States,  the  analogy  may  be  used 
of  the  Germans  in  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar.  Though  un- 
doubtedly the  Germans  might  have  gained  more  in  civiliza- 
tion at  first  by  being  absorbed,  hke  the  Gauls,  into  the 
Roman  Empire,  yet  by  keeping  their  independence  they 
developed  into  one  of  the  greatest  peoples  of  history.  Thi" 
is  an  effective  analogy.  Yet  an  opponent  would  urge  tiiv. 
racial  differences  between  the  Germans  and  the  Cubans, 
and  the  differences  of  government  between  the  Roman 
Empire  and  the  United  States.  This  does  not  mean  that 
argument  by  analogy  should  be  abandoned;  it  does  mean 


206  ARGUMENT 

that  the  analogy  should  be  real  and  fundamental,  not  merely 
plausible,  and  further  that  analogy  is  best  used,  not  as  a 
main  reliance,  but  in  support  of  other  forms  of  argument. 
Generally,  deduction  is  most  useful  in  preliminary  survey; 
induction,  for  the  main  work  of  proof;  analogy,  to  enliven 
the  presentation.  But  analogy  has  the  further  use  of  en- 
hancing and  clarifying  exposition.  Thus  it  also  strengthens 
argument  indirectly  by  bringing  the  necessary  explanation 
home.  Burke  makes  good  argumentative  use  of  analogy  in 
citing  the  case  of  Wales  to  prove  the  advisability  of  concili- 
ation with  America. 


-h 


^i. 


SUMMARY 

Deduction:  drawing  down  principles;  arguing  from  reflec- 
tioA,  or  out  of  one's  head;  looking  forward;  arguing  from  general 
fjrinciples. 

2.  Indicction:  drawing  up  evidence;  arguing  from  investiga- 
tion, or  out  of  books;  looking  backward;  arguing  from  particular 
f4cts. 
jB»^  3.  Analogy:  drawing  a  parallel;  arguing  by  comparison;  arguing 
tnat  the  present  is  like  the  past  in  a  particular  aspect;  arguing 
from  history. 

Speaking  from  Outline.  —  Better  than  Reading  or  Memo^ 
rizing,  —  For  any  kind  of  speech,  the  final  stage  of  prepa- 
ration had  better  be  by  speaking.  The  plan  by  paragraphs 
once  settled  (page  197),  that  paragraph  which  promises  to 
be  easiest  may  be  developed  orally,  spoken  off  consecutively 
from  beginning  to  end.  This  first  oral  form,  though  it  may 
be  rough  and  halting,  will  show  whether  the  discussion  of 
that  point  is  full  enough  to  be  clear  and  lively  enough  to  be 
interesting.  Better  still,  it  will  begin  the  habit  of  public 
speaking  by  giving^he  sense  ^f  actually  addressing  an  audi- 
ence. Imagine  l;iearers  before  you.  Try  by  all  means  to 
make  the  point  clear.     Exemphfy,  taking  up  a  card  now 


ARGUMENT  207 

and  then  if  there  is  need  to  cite  authority;  iterate  and  con- 
trast, putting  the  idea  in  different  ways  until  it  must  be 
clear;  illustrate  by  some  familiar  and  interesting  parallel; 
and  close  by  repeating  the  point  emphatically.^  Instead  of 
stopping  to  choose  words  or  correct  sentences,  speak  straight 
on  to  the  end,  slowly,  but  without  long  pauses.  Then,  after 
thinking  how  to  express  the  point  more  exactly  or  strongly, 
speak  the  whole  paragraph  a  second  time.  In  this  way 
each  paragraph  may  be  developed  orally  in  spare  moments. 

In  addition,  the  whole  speech  should  be  spoken  through 
without  interruption  from  beginning  to  end.  This  gives 
opportunity  to  make  sure  that  the  close  is  clear  and  strong; 
the  opening,  pointed  and  interesting.  At  this  point  some 
speakers  enlarge  the  paragraph  outline  by  writing  out  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  each  paragraph,  to  make  the  co- 
herence of  the  whole  sure  by  paragraph  emphasis.^  Service- 
able for  beginners,  such  revision  is  by  no  means  necessary 
in  all  cases.  The  essential  method  is  to  prepare  the  speech 
by  speaking.  The  result  is  that  the  speaker  is  ready,  posi- 
tively because  he  knows  exactly  what  he  is  to  say,  negatively 
because  he  is  not  bound  to  recall  it  in  certain  fixed  words. 
For  by  the  method  of  oral  development,  though  no  para- 
graph will  be  said  twice  in  exactly  the  same  words,  the 
whole  will  be  at  command.  The  important  words  will  be 
readily  remembered;  and,  what  is  of  greater  consequence, 
the  speaker  will  be  free  to  look  his  audience  in  the  eye, 
confident  of  each  thought,  and  of  its  place  and  method  of 
development,  and  ready  to  adapt  his  words  as  he  sees  oppor- 
tunity.   The  way  to  learn  to  speak  is  by  speaking. 

It  is  not  by  writing.  To  write  a  speech  out  in  full  ajter 
it  has  been  prepared  orally  is  excellent  practice  in  revision; 
to  write  it  out  in  full  before  it  is  spoken  will  probably  con- 

i  For  these  means  of  paragraph  development,  see  pages  7-13. 
>  Pages  83-92. 


208  ARGUMENT 

demn  the  writer  either  to  read  it  aloud  or  to  learn  it  by 
heart.  Neither  reading  nor  memorizing  gives  much  practice 
in  public  speaking.  Neither  develops  the  real  power  of  the 
platform,  the  power  to  appeal  to  an  audience  directly.  In 
reading  aloud,  the  manuscript  seems  to  come  between 
speaker  and  hearers,  and  often  gives  an  impression  of  unre- 
aUty,  as  if  the  words  were  those  of  a  third  person.  In 
speaking  from  memory,  the  necessity  of  recalling  the  exact 
words  distracts  the  speaker's  attention  from  his  hearers.  He 
is  not  directly  pleading  with  them;  he  is  reciting  to  them; 
and  they  quickly  feel  the  difference.  It  distracts  his  atten- 
tion also  from  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings;  for  these  he 
is  no  longer  uttering  spontaneously,  but  recalling  in  certain 
fixed  expressions.  No  student  will  gain  much  power  in 
public  speaking  so  long  as  he  confines  himself  to  writing. 

Insures  Adaptation  and  Emphasis,  —  The  preparation  of  a 
speech  by  speaking  it  several  times  from  a  paragraph  outline 
has  other  marked  advantages.  At  the  very  first  trial  it 
gives  confidence  by  accustoming  the  speaker  to  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice.  It  takes  off  the  edge  of  his  first  stage 
fright.  Secondly,  it  teaches  adaptation  to  the  audience. 
Phrases  that  look  well  enough  on  paper  often  sound  inap- 
propriate or  insincere  when  they  are  uttered.  Speaking  in 
preparation  leads  the  speaker  to  adopt  such  language  as  he 
can  put  his  heart  into.  Thirdly,  it  reveals  the  importance 
of  paragraph  emphasis  as  a  means  of  making  the  whole 
coherent.  This  is  much  more  important  for  speaking  than 
for  writing;  and  its  importance  is  revealed  by  the  act  of 
speaking.  As  he  speaks,  one  feels  that  he  must  not  leave 
a  point  until  he  has  cHnched  it;  he  feels  that  before  passing 
to  the  next  paragraph  he  must  make  his  hearers  quite  sure 
of  the  paragraph  that  he  is  finishing. 

Insures  Due  Amplification^,  —  Again,  the  oral  develop- 
ment of  a  paragraph  leads  naturally  to  greater  fullness,     A 


ARGUMENT  209 

statement  that  might  suffice  for  reading  may  be  too  bare 
for  hearing.  Feeling  this  lack  as  he  speaks,  one  naturally 
tends  to  iterate  more,  or  to  use  more  examples  and  illustra- 
tions. Speech  must  be  fuller  than  writing.  The  very 
process  of  speaking  may  reveal  the  advantage  of  omitting 
some  points  of  the  original  plan  for  the  sake  of  expanding 
others.  Here  is  a  direct  gain.  A  speech  prevails,  not  by 
numbers,  but  by  fullness.  The  idea  of  covering  many  points 
is  often  misleading.  A  speaker  really  covers  no  more  points 
than  he  can  make  his  hearers  cover.  He  gains  nothing  by 
hurrying  them  over  others.  Not  many^  hut  much,  is  the 
motto  for  speech-making.  Better  a  few  points  impressed 
than  many  points  hurried»  An  audience  cannot  hurry. 
To  digest  a  point  from  hearing  takes  time.  Preparation 
by  speaking  leads  to  due  ampUfication. 

Insures  Freedom  and  Spontaneity,  —  But  perhaps  the 
greatest  advantage  of  oral  preparation  has  been  mentioned 
already.  It  is  freedom.  "  He  is  not  tied  down  to  his  notes  " 
is  often  said  in  praise  of  a  speaker,  and  justly.  When  is  a 
man  tied  down  to  his  notes,  and  when  not?  Notes  are 
usually  necessary.  The  only  question  is  how  to  use  them. 
If  the  speaker  has  not  merely  arranged  his  notes  and  made 
a  plan  by  paragraphs,  but  also  written  out  his  speech  in 
full  before  speaking  it  at  all,  then  he  must  remember  certain 
words  or  falter.  They  may  be  very  good  words;  but,  in- 
stead of  helping  him,  they  hinder.  They  divide  his  atten- 
tion. He  is  compelled  to  think  of  two  things  at  once,  what 
he  is  saying  and  how  he  is  saying  it.  He  runs  the  risk  of 
seeming  to  recite  words  instead  of  urging  things.  If,  as  he 
looks  at  his  hearers,  he  feels  that  one  of  his  phrases  is  inap- 
propriate, or  if  his  opponent  in  debate  has  taken  an  unex- 
pected turn,  he  cannot  change  that  part  for  fear  of  breaking 
his  thread  of  memory.  If  he  forgets  a  word,  he  is  confused 
and  halted.  But  if  he  has  composed  his  speech  orally  from 
15 


210  ARGUMENT 

outline,  he  is  quite  free  to  adapt.  The  outline  being  easily 
remembered  if  it  be  short,  or  held  in  the  hand  if  it  be  long, 
he  is  confident.  He  cannot  lose  his  way;  and  in  speech- 
making  that  is  the  only  real  danger.  To  lose  a  word  is 
nothing.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  speaker  usually  remembers 
the  words  most  important  to  remember,  the  key-words  or 
clue-words.  These  become  fixed  in  his  mind  by  recurring 
in  the  oral  preparation.  But,  even  if  the  word  escapes,  the 
idea  remains  and  will  suggest  another  word.  Thus  being 
free  from  bondage  to  words,  he  develops  a  thought  or  a 
feeling  with  the  force  of  real  discussion,  man  to  man.  Look- 
ing his  hearers  in  the  eye  —  the  speaker  from  memory  is 
often  afraid  to  do  that  —  he  makes  his  point  sure.  If  he 
sees  that  it  is  not  quite  grasped,  he  iterates;  if  he  finds  his 
way  of  talking  too  dry,  or  too  solemn,  or  too  anything  else, 
he  changes  his  style.  For  oral  preparation  gives  a  speaker 
freedom  by  giving  him  flexibility.  He  is  free  to  adapt. 
He  can  expand  or  contract  or  modify  without  faltering. 
His  speech  is  not  cut  and  dried.  It  keeps  its  freshness. 
True,  not  all  these  desirable  qualities  will  be  achieved  at 
once  or  without  pains;  but  the  point  is,  how  shall  our  pains 
be  spent?  Preparation  and  practice  are  necessary  either 
way.  To  develop  skill  in  public  speaking,  let  the  prepara- 
tion and  practice  be  largely  oral. 

Debate.  —  The  Spirit  of  Debate,  Reality,  —  The  power  of 
such  direct,  free  speech  is  seen  best  in  debate.  The  idea  of 
debate  is  to  make  the  truth  prevail  over  opposition.  To 
the  audience  it  gives  the  opportunity  of  understanding  a 
disputed  matter  fully  by  hearing  both  sides.  Among  all 
civilized  peoples  this  is  a  recognized  way  of  settling  public 
questions.  To  the  debater  it  gives  the  opportunity  of  fight- 
ing for  his  beliefs.  In  order  to  make  his  proposal  prevail,  he 
has  to  test  both  his  own  reasons  and  those  of  his  opponents. 
Thus  debate  has  a  constant  twofold  value:  it  informs  the 


ARGUMENT  211 

audience  in  the  liveliest  possible  way  on  matters  in  which 
they  are  concerned;  and  it  develops  in  speakers  a  habit  of 
clear  and  thorough  thinking,  careful  investigation  and  forci- 
ble presentation.  Loose  thinking,  lazy  study,  halting  pres- 
entation, cannot  withstand  attack.  Debate  puts  a  man  on 
his  mettle.  He  has  to  know  his  reasons  and  find  ways  of 
recommending  them.  Fortifying  his  convictions,  he  learns 
how  to  make  others  at  least  respect  them,  and,  if  he  suc- 
ceeds further,  adopt  them.  Thus,  of  all  kinds  of  public 
speaking,  it  calls  most  for  thoroughness,  directness,  and 
practical  adaptation.  It  is  composition  at  close  quarters. 
So  the  ideal  debate  is  on  a  question  really  important  to 
the  audience,  and  by  speakers  really  convinced  of  the  side 
for  which  they  speak.  Then  audience  and  speakers  alike 
have  the  greatest  zest  possible  to  any  form  of  composition, 
—  eagerness  for  the  outcome.  Though  these  conditions 
are  not  possible  always,  they  should  always  be  sought,  and 
they  can  be  attained  very  often.  First,  the  question  should 
be  of  real  interest.  It  need  not  be  a  burning  issue;  it  need 
not  be  new;  but  it  should  have  real  interest  for  the  debaters 
and  the  audience.  Nothing  takes  more  life  out  of  debate 
than  unreality.  To  fence  with  words  over  a  matter  that 
no  one  cares  about,  or  without  any  audience  to  care,  is 
uphill  work.  It  may  give  a  certain  sort  of  practice;  but  at 
least  as  much  practice  can  be  had  from  live  questions. 
What  questions  are  alive  depends  on  the  community.  Every 
large  group  of  people,  every  town,  every  college,  every 
society  of  more  than  a  few  members,  buzzes  with  discussions. 
Whether  these"  are  on  political  questions  suggested  by  the 
newspapers,  or  on  questions  of  history  suggested  by  books, 
or  on  town  questions  about  a  hospital  or  as  to  the  number 
of  saloons,  or  on  college  questions,  they  are  alive  if  people 
care  to  talk  and  hear  about  them. 


212  ARGUMENT 

A  little  forethought  can  almost  always  put  before  the  debating 
society  a  proposition  that  frames  a  live  question.  But  there 
is  need  of  a  few  cautions.  Avoid  questions  of  religion.  Experi- 
ence shows  that  these  usually  gain  little,  and  may  lose  much,  by 
public  debate.  Avoid  questions  of  taste  or  individual  opinion. 
Thackeray  is  a  greater  author  than  Dickens  —  as  to  this  and  like 
questions  no  general  agreefnent  is  possible.  They  are  subjects 
rather  for  conversation  than  for  debate.  Avoid  questions  that 
involve  difficult  or  complicated  research.  These  compel  a  young 
debater  either  to  hesitate  from  uncertain  knowledge  or  to  put  on 
pedantic  airs.  Finally,  be  ready  sometimes  to  speak  on  the  side 
contrary  to  your  convictions.  This  does,  indeed,  involve  unreal- 
ity; but  it  is  sometimes  necessary,  as  when  most  of  the  debaters 
favor  one  side;  and  it  gives  valuable  additional  practice.  Every 
debate  necessitates  study  of  the  other  side.  To  speak  also  for 
the  other  side  increases  one's  ability  to  see  both  sides,  and  it 
weakens  a  habit  of  prejudice.  Nor  does  it  impair  loyalty.  Every 
one  understands  that  a  debater  must  sometimes  be  on  the 
'* wrong"  side.  By  doing  his  best  for  it  he  forces  his  opponents 
to  defend  his  real  convictions  well.  As  to  many  questions  pro- 
posed a  debater  will  have  no  strong  preference  of  side.  His  mind 
will  be  made  up  by  the  debate,  not  beforehand.  When  the  prop- 
osition frames  a  matter  of  his  conviction,  he  should  always 
speak  for  that  conviction  if  possible.  Only  by  putting  his  heart 
in  can  he  do  his  best.  But  if  the  other  side  lacks  a  man,  he  need 
not  hesitate  to  be  what  the  middle  ages  called  the  deviFs  advocate. 
For  even  by  this  means  he  can  show  the  defenders  of  his  belief 
what  they  have  to  overcome. 

Courtesy.  —  The  manners  of  all  public  debate  are  the 
manners  of  Congress.  A  debater  always  first  addresses 
the  chair.  He  refers  to  his  opponents  only  in  the  third 
person:  "The  speaker  who  has  just  taken  his  seat  con- 
tended/' "as  the  affirmative  has  asserted,''  "the  second 
speaker  for  the  negative, "  "  our  opponents,"  etc.  He  avoids 
all  language  that  might  seem* to  impute  unworthy  motives. 
He  challenges  a  statement,  not  as  "false"  or  "untrue," 


ARGUMENT  213 

but  as  "mistaken,"  "unfounded,"  "unwarranted,"  etc. 
He  faces,  not  his  opponents,  except  rarely  to  put  a  question, 
but  the  audience.  These  are  the  courtesies  of  debate. 
Even  in  small  companies  they  should  not  be  thought  irk- 
some; for  without  such  restraint  debate  easily  lapses  into 
mere  wrangling.  A  debate  implies  that  certain  disputants 
have  agreed  to  hear  one  another  out  fully,  in  turn,  without 
interruption,  and  to  leave  the  decision  to  a  third  party. 
Debate  ought  to  be  always  earnest  and  never  angry.  Quar- 
reling spoils  the  debate  and  affronts  the  audience.  Without 
learning  to  give  and  take  courteously,  no  one  can  learn  to 
debate  at  all.  To  lose  one^s  temper  is  often  to  lose  one's 
case.  The  formal  courtesies  of  debate  merely  embody  this 
vital  principle  of  restraint.  They  safeguard  the  high  value 
of  debate  by  keeping  it  on  a  high  plane.  By  prohibiting 
personalities  they  not  only  prevent  quarreling;  they  also 
direct  attention  from  the  speakers  to  their  arguments.  They 
remind  us  that  the  object  of  attack  is  not  the  man,  but  the 
thing.  They  bid  us  rebut,  not  men,  but  arguments.  They 
imply  that  the  truth  is  more  important  than  any  man.  The 
desire  to  display  oneself,  or  to  humble  an  opponent,  should 
be  sacrificed  to  the  single  aim  of  advancing  one's  cause. 
Thus  the  courtesies  of  debate  will  help  the  realization  of 
its  very  object. 

Honesty,  —  Honesty,  being  assumed  as  necessary  to  all 
public  dealings,  might  seem  hardly  worth  a  pause,  were  it 
not  obscured  sometimes  by  the  idea  of  cleverness.  Many 
thoughtless  people  see  in  debate  little  more  than  an  exhibi- 
tion of  sharp  practice,  evasion,  twisting  of  words  and  jug- 
gling with  facts.  And  some  debaters  seem  to  be  more 
occupied  with  laying  snares  for  their  opponents,  or  with 
wriggling  out  of  an  issue,  than  with  discussing  squarely. 
They  seem  less  anxious  for  a  battle  than  for  an  ambush. 
Now  the  old   maxim  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy  is 


214  ARGUMENT 

nowhere  stronger  than  in  debate.  This  does  not  mean  that 
debaters  must  always  disclose  their  whole  case  at  the  start; 
for  their  opponents  may  fairly  be  kept  alert,  and  unex- 
pected turns  are  a  fair  test  of  strength.  It  does  not  mean 
that  debaters  should  not  expose  to  the  full  an  adversary's 
omissions,  inconsistencies,  or  hasty  inferences;  for  the  ex- 
posure of  error  directly  advances  truth  and  the  very  life 
of  debate  depends  on  making  one's  own  side  strong  against 
the  other.  Truth  will  be  best  served  in  the  end  by  each 
debater's  doing  his  very  best  for  his  own  side.  A  debater 
is  responsible,  not  for  the  decision,  which  belongs  to  the 
judges,  but  for  the  strength  of  his  own  case.  But  honesty 
in  debate  does  mean  a  purpose  to  meet  fairly  all  issues 
fairly  involved  in  the  question.  If  a  point  advantageous 
to  your  opponents  is  not  brought  up  by  them,  you  are  under 
no  obligation  to  mention  it.  That  is  their  lookout.  Your 
duty  is  to  your  own  side.  But  in  preparation  study,  not 
how  to  evade  your  opponents'  points  by  some  twisting  of 
the  proposition,  not  how  to  meet  them  falsely  by  statistics 
that  you  know  to  be  doubtful  or  insufficient,  but  how  to 
meet  them  squarely.  In  preparation,  again,  study,  not 
how  much  can  possibly  be  admitted  in  a  statement  of  facts 
by  some  ingenious  interpretation,  or  some  bias  suspected 
in  the  audience  or  the  judges,  but  how  much  should  be 
admitted  by  an  impartial  student.  Trickery  is  poor  debate. 
It  usually  rebounds  upon  the  tricksters;  for  their  opponents 
will  probably  expose  it,  and  it  may  even  dim  the  value  of 
their  sound  arguments  by  casting  suspicion  on  their  whole 
case.  A  spirit  of  fairness  is  of  itself  a  recommendation. 
Trickery,  even  when  it  succeeds  at  the  time,  fails  in  the 
end.  It  fails  by  missing  the  larger  and  more  important 
training  of  debate;  and  it  tends  to  paralyze  debate  in  that 
community  by  cutting  a  nerv«. 

The  Method  of  Debate:  Rebuttal,  —  The  peculiarity  of  de- 


ARGUMENT  215 

bate,  as  distinguished  from  other  forms  of  pubKc  speaking,  is 
give-and-take.  Debate  has  to  be  adapted,  not  merely,  as  all 
speaking  must  be  adapted,  to  the  audience,  but  also  to  op- 
ponents. Therefore  it  must  be  of  all  forms  of  public  speak- 
ing the  most  flexible.  The  debater  must  have  a  two-fold 
readiness:  (1)  readiness  to  advance  his  case  positively  by  urg- 
ing those  arguments  for  it  which  are  his  part;  (2)  readiness  to 
advance  his  case  negatively  by  meeting  those  arguments 
against  it  which  have  been  urged  by  his  opponents.  The 
former  demands  in  general  merely  the  same  preparation  as  for 
any  other  form  of  public  speaking.  In  particular  it  demands 
some  leeway.  Instead  of  planning  for  the  whole  time  as- 
signed, the  debater  leaves  a  margin  for  answering  his  oppo- 
nents. Though  a  second  speech  is  often  provided  for  each 
speaker  to  this  particular  end,  still  he  had  better  leave  room 
for  it  also  in  his  first  speech.  Thus  the  debate  will  be  a  de- 
bate throughout,  and  not  in  great  part  a  series  of  set  speeches. 
Grouping  Rebuttal.  —  The  latter  kind  of  readiness  is  the 
readiness  peculiar  to  debate.  The  life  of  debate  is  rebuttal. 
Preparation  for  rebuttal  has  been  made  already  by  the 
brief;  for  this  not  only  includes  answers  to  the  probable 
attacks  of  the  other  side,  but  also  shows  the  bearing  of  these 
answers  on  the  whole  case  (page  179).  Rebuttal,  to  be 
effective,  must  be  more  than  a  number  of  separate  answers 
to  a  number  of  separate  objections.  Like  the  positive  argu- 
ments, it  needs  to  be  grouped  under  main  points.  Thus 
the  brief  is  most  useful  for  reference  in  showing  what  a  set 
of  objections  amounts  to  as  a  whole.  By  its  aid  a  debater 
can  more  quickly  group  his  rebuttal  so  as  to  show  that  the 
attack  has  left  his  case  strong.  Such  readiness  makes  the 
rebuttal  tell  as  a  whole,  not  merely  as  a  number  of  answers. 
Readiness  to  rebut  consists,  not  merely  in  having  many 
answers  to  many  separate  small  points,  but  in  knqwing  how 
to  group  these  effectively. 


216  ARGUMENT 

Closing  Positively,  —  For  the  same  reason  rebuttal  should 
always  close  positively  by  showing  that  one^s  own  side 
remains  strong.  Thus  it  should  seize  any  good  opportunity 
of  reviewing  briefly  the  whole  course  of  the  debate,  so  as  to 
show  how  attack  has  been  resisted,  or  where  it  has  been 
weak,  and  to  expose  any  weakness  of  positive  argument  on 
the  other  side  as  a  whole.  In  a  word,  rebuttal  is  not  con- 
fined to  details.  It  may  well  consider  also  the  whole  course 
of  the  argument.  And  this  it  must  do  in  the  final  speech 
of  rebuttal  that  closes  the  whole  debate.  For  the  close  of 
a  debate,  hke  the  close  of  any  other  composition,  must  be 
strong  and  positive. 

''How  Bo  You  Knowf'  and  ''What  of  It r'  — In  detail 
the  preparation  for  rebuttal  is  a  process  of  analysis.  It 
analyzes  the  argument  of  the  opposition  to  see  (1)  what  it  is 
based  on,  and  (2)  what  it  amounts  to.  Rebuttal,  that  is, 
challenges  an  argument  by  asking  either  (1)  How  do  you 
know?  or  (2)  What  of  it?  In  other  words,  it  challenges 
either  (1)  the  evidence,  the  basis  of  facts,  or  (2)  the  inference, 
the  conclusion  drawn  from  the  facts.  In  one  way  or  the 
other,  sometimes  in  both,  rebuttal  analyzes  an  argument 
to  test  its  worth. 

Cuba  should  be  annexed  to  the  United  States,  In  support  of  this 
proposition  it  is  asserted  that  the  Cubans  are  too  illiterate  for  stable 
self-government.  How  do  you  know?  Show  us  by  authorita- 
tive statistics  that  the  percentage  of  illiteracy  among  the  Cubans 
is  higher  than  among  peoples  having  a  stable  self-government. 
Rebuttal  never  lets  pass  a  general  assertion;  it  always  pins  down 
to  particulars,  and  to  particulars  well  vouched.  And  what  of  it? 
Supposing  a  high  percentage  of  illiteracy  to  be  established,  does 
that  prove  the  advantage  of  annexation?  Will  Cuba  lose  or  gain 
in  the  end  by  dealing  with  her  own  problem  of  illiteracy?  Shall 
we  lose  or  gain  by  annexing  an  Illiterate  population?  Subsidies 
should  be  granted  to  United  States  vessels  engorged  in  trade  with  South 


ARGUMENT  217 

America.  In  support  of  this  proposition  it  is  argued  that  trans- 
portation between  the  United  States  and  South  America  is  defi- 
cient. How  do  you  know?  From  a  senator's  speech  reported  in 
a  newspaper.  But  the  number  of  sailings  entered  in  the  last  report 
of  the  Commissioner  of  Navigation  is  600;  and  the  Commissioner's 
figures  are  superior  as  evidence  to  the  senator's  general  assertion. 
And  what  of  it?  Suppose  the  number  of  sailings  to  be  smaller 
than  is  desirable.  Would  increasing  the  number  of  ships  be  the 
best  way  of  increasing  the  trade?  Do  ships  produce  trade;  or 
does  trade  produce  ships? 

How  do  you  know?  What  of  it?  These  questions  in- 
dicate, not  the  actual  words  to  be  used  in  rebuttal,  but  the 
method  of  analysis.  They  mean  that  analysis  for  rebuttal 
must  scrutinize  both  the  evidence  and  the  inference;  that 
we  must  examine  whether  the  facts  are  accurately  stated 
and  sufficient,  and  whether  the  reasoning  from  them  is 
sound.  As  every  argument  consists  of  statement  and 
proof  (page  200),  so  rebuttal  must  analyze  both. 

Listening,  —  Rebuttal,  like  all  other  argument  in  debate, 
should  be  real.  It  should  meet  the  points  that  actually 
arise,  not  merely  those  that  might  arise.  Preparation  for 
debate  must,  indeed,  forecast  what  the  opponents  will 
probably  bring  forward;  but  it  can  rarely  forecast  exactly 
what  will  be  the  opponents'  line.  The  debater  must  be 
ready  for  anything  that  may  reasonably  arise;  but  he  must 
actually  meet  what  actually  does  arise.  Else  debate  be- 
comes a  series  of  set  speeches.  It  ceases  to  be  a  combat. 
Skill  in  rebuttal  comes  largely  from  meeting  opportunities. 
To  this  end  the  first  means  is  a  habit  of  Hstening.  A  good 
debater  is  a  good  listener.  He  is  quick  to  seize  what  his 
opponent  says  —  not  the  ten  or  dozen  things  that  he  says, 
but  the  single  thing,  or  the  few  things,  in  which  they  may 
be  all  summed  up  (page  215).  He  learns  to  analyze  and 
summarize  as  he  hears.     Now  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  is 


218  ARGUMENT 

absorbed  in  what  he  proposed  to  say  himself,  or  if  the  first 
point  made  by  his  opponent  sets  him  to  running  nervously 
over  his  notes,  he  is  likely  to  lose  his  chance.  The  only 
way  to  meet  the  actual  opportunities  of  debate  is  to  listen, 
to  listen  intently,  to  seize  the  main  point,  and  then  to 
attack  that. 

This  does  not  involve  abandoning  one's  main  line  of 
argument.  If  that  has  been  well  considered,  it  will  remain 
good.  But  no  Hne  of  argument  should  be  planned  to  fill 
the  whole  time.  Space  should  be  left  for  adjusting  the  in- 
cidental rebuttal  according  to  the  actual  turn  of  the  debate, 
and  for  expanding  the  positive  argument  where  it  is  most 
heavily  attacked.  Far  from  abandoning  his  main  line,  a 
debater  should  never  let  himself  be  drawn  aside;  but  to 
turn  aside  is  very  different  from  turning  to  meet  an  impor- 
tant argument.  For  any  important  argument  in  a  well- 
prepared  debate  can  always  be  brought  to  bear  on  one's 
own  case.  Such  adjustment  demands  alertness;  and  alert- 
ness begins  in  cultivating  a  habit  of  listening.  Only  by 
listening  can  a  debater  learn  to  measure  quickly  which 
arguments  demand  most  attention,  and  how  to  rebut  them 
so  as  to  show  their  relation  to  his  own  positive  argument.* 

Working  Together.  —  Debate  combines  into  one  effective 
whole,  not  merely  many  arguments,  but  several  persons. 
Its  success  depends  less  on  brilliant  individual  speeches 
than  on  the  working  together  of  all.  It  prevails  by  com- 
bination. "My  colleague  has  shown  you''  —  "We  have 
insisted  throughout  this  debate"  —  words  Hke  these  are  not 
merely  formal;  they  remind  us  that  a  debate  must  hang 
together.  Division  of  labor  should  lighten  research  by 
making  each  debater  responsible  for  one  main  group  of 
arguments  and  the  facts  on  which  they  are  based.  And  in 
rebuttal  each  debater  may  well' take  care  of  those  points 
1  Chapter  i,  pages  15,  29. 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  219 

which  fall  within  his  own  field.  But  the  case  as  a  whole 
should  be  planned  by  all  and  familiar  to  each  in  its  main 
bearings.  Thus  any  speaker  can  briefly  rebut  an  argument 
which  will  be  met  in  detail  by  his  colleague  who  has  that 
group  in  charge,  but  which  seems  to  demand  some  answer  at 
once.  Each  debater,  regarding  himself  as  a  part,  should  be 
ready  to  do  whatever  the  debate  needs.  Though  he  may 
foresee  a  chance  for  eloquence  on  a  certain  point,  he  must 
not  hesitate,  if  that  point  is  slighted,  to  touch  it  Hghtly  for 
the  sake  of  spending  himself  where  he  is  needed.  Each 
debater  should  make  his  own  points  sure,  and  still  be  ready 
to  help  the  others  if  the  main  attack  falls  on  them.  Thus 
debate  has  the  force  and  the  pleasure  of  fellowship  in  contest,  y 

Speeches  on  Occasions.  —  Distinct  from  Speeches  in  Debate.  ^■*" 
—  Public  speaking  is  of  three  general  kinds,  according  as  it 
is  directed  toward  the  past,  the  future,  or  the  present. 
The  first  kind,  looking  at  the  past,  is  forensic  oratory,  the 
oratory  of  lawyers  in  court.  Its  object  is  to  determine  in  a 
dispute  just  what  happened,  and  whether  it  was  right  or 
wrong  according  to  the  law.  The  second  kind,  looking  at 
the  future,  is  deliberative  oratory,  the  oratory  of  Congress  and 
of  all  other  public  discussion.  Its  object  is  to  determine  in 
a  dispute  just  what  ought  to  be  done;  i.6.,  whether  a  pro- 
posed measure  is  wise  or  unwise,  expedient  or  inexpedient. 
The  third  kind,  occasional  oratory,  looking  at  the  present, 
seeks  to  make  an  audience  reaUze  the  significance  of  an 
occasion.  The  first  kind  is  too  technical  for  consideration 
here.  The  second  has  been  discussed  already  under  the 
head  of  debate.  We  must  now  consider  the  third,  speeches 
on  occasions. 

Perhaps  the  instances  of  this  most  familiar  to  Americans 
are  Webster's  first  oration  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  Lincoln's 
at  the  dedication  of  the  cemetery  at  Gettysburg.     At  once  . 
we  recognize  in  these  speeches  a  distinct  kind  of  public 


220  SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS 

speaking.  The  object  is  not  so  much  to  prove  or  to  explain 
as  to  interpret.  The  speaker  tries  not  so  much  to  make  us 
understand  as  to  make  us  feel.  His  aim  is  to  bring  some 
event  home,  to  mark  some  anniversary  or  other  public 
commemoration  upon  our  hearts,  to  improve,  as  the  good 
old-fashioned  phrase  puts  it,  —  to  improve  the  occasion. 
It  has  long  been  our  American  habit  to  observe  occasions 
in  this  way.  The  annual  Fourth-of-July  oration,  indeed, 
has  given  way  to  noisier  demonstrations;  but  the  birthdays 
of  Washington  and  of  Lincoln,  Memorial  Day,  Thanksgiving 
Day  among  Americans  abroad,  and  other  public  holidays, 
are  still  annually  commemorated  by  speeches.  The  un- 
veiling of  a  tablet,  the  completion  of  a  monument,  the 
presentation  of  a  stand  of  colors  or  a  loving-cup,  school  or 
college  "commencements,''  are  usually  marked  in  the  same 
way.  The  public  dinners  of  a  society  would  be  otherwise 
incomplete.  Many  sermons  are  occasional  speeches.  In 
short,  there  are  few  days  on  which  the  newspaper  does  not 
report  some  speech  on  an  occasion;  and  among  such  speeches 
we  find  some  of  the  best  oratory  of  any  period. 

The  Opportunity  for  Originality,  —  The  fact  that  occa- 
sional speeches  are  often  the  best  speeches  of  the  best 
speakers  seems  at  first  to  put  them  quite  out  of  ordinary 
reach;  and  indeed  it  would  be  fatuous  for  an  inexperienced 
speaker  to  put  himself  forward  on  a  great  occasion.  On 
such  occasions  most  of  us  had  better  listen.  Nevertheless, 
there  are  occasions  also  for  students,  and  they  offer  oppor- 
tunities for  exercising  oneself  in  ways  not  offered  by  debate. 
Graduation  invites  speeches,  not  only  by  distinguished 
visitors,  but  also  by  the  graduates.  Some  message  they 
too  have  for  that  day;  and  sometimes  they  may  bring  it 
home  the  better  because  they  speak  to  their  own  class- 
mates. Nor  is  there  any  presumption  in  putting  before 
one's  classmates  or  society  some  significance  felt  in  Memorial 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  221 

Day  or  on  a  lesser  occasion  of  general  or  local  commemora- 
tion. 

How  can  an  occasional  speech  be  original?  Evidently 
not  by  conveying  new  information.  That  would  usually 
be  impossible  for  a  speaker  of  any  age;  for  the  occasion  is 
usually  old  enough,  either  the  anniversary  of  an  event  often 
commemorated,  or  similar  to  a  hundred  other  occasions. 
Every  Commencement,  for  instance,  is  much  like  every 
other  Commencement.  But  every  audience  is  somewhat 
different  from  every  other  audience;  every  community  has 
some  interests  peculiar  to  itself  or  to  the  time  of  speaking; 
and  every  speaker  sees  through  his  own  eyes.  There  is  the 
chance  for  originality.  The  subject  may  be  old;  but  it 
has  never  before  been  presented  to  those  people  by  that 
speaker,  and  this  year  gives  it  a  significance  unthought  of 
last  year. 

The  Need  of  Bringing  Home,  —  Such  occasional  speeches 
are  quite  possible,  and  are  very  valuable  training  in  adapta^ 
ticn.  Especial  attention  should  be  given  to  the  tone,  or 
manner;  for  the  chief  merit  of  an  occasional  speech  is  ap- 
propriateness. Keeping  a  clear  progress  of  thought,  avoid 
dividing  the  speech  in  the  formal  manner  proper  to  debate. 
The  commemoration  of  a  great  man  should  never  be  a  chro- 
nological summary  of  his  life.  Besides  being  tedious,  that 
is  too  much  like  reciting  from  the  cyclopedia.  Select  such 
aspects  of  his  character  and  career  as  appeal  most  to  you 
and  promise  to  touch  the  audience  at  that  particular  time. 
Occasional  speeches  give  an  opportunity,  impossible  in  de- 
bate, for  description.  There  is  no  better  way  of  impressing 
the  democratic  spirit  of  Lincoln,  for  instance,  than  by  de- 
scribing certain  incidents.  The  younger  the  audience,  the 
more  room  for  description.  The  constant  aim  of  an  occa- 
sional speech  is  to  rekindle  interest  in  the  subject  by  adapt- 
ing it  to  the  audience  and  the  time.     Its  originaUty  consists 


222  SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS 

in  a  message  felt  by  the  speaker  and  brought  home  to  the 
hearers. 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  OCCASIONAL  SPEECHES 

(These  suggestions  should  be  freely  adapted  to  the  audience 
and  to  the  speaker.  They  are  meant  merely  to  provide  some  defi- 
nite directions  in  this  wide  field.) 

1.    A  PRESENTATION 

Occasion.  You  have  been  chosen  to  present  to  the  academic 
community  a  gift  made  by  class  subscription,  or  to  the  succeeding 
class  some  traditional  symbol. 

Theme.  The  debt  of  the  class  to  the  community. 

Paragraphs  —  I.  (Addressed  to  the  audience.)  Each  class  in  turn 
grows  to  feel  its  debt  to  the  community:  (a)  to  maintain  the  com- 
mon spirit,  (6)  to  enhance  it  by  some  individual  contribution. 
This  occasion  is  the  commemoration  of  loyalty  to  the  institution. 

II.  We  feel  that  we  have  received  here  especially  .  .  .  The 
contribution  that  we  have  tried  to  make  is  .  .  . 

III.  (Addressed  to  the  representative  who  receives.)  This  is 
the  significance  of  our  gift.  It  symbolizes  the  continuity  and 
growth  of  what  we  have  found  best  here.  We  commend  it  to 
you  as  a  symbol  of  loyalty. 

2.    THE   OPENING  OF  THE   NEW   PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

Occasion,  You  are  chosen  to  address  the  class  on  the  comple- 
tion of  the  new  public  library. 

Theme.    What  the  new  library  means  to  the  community. 

Paragraphs — I.  The  Occasion:  significance  of  the  new  build- 
ing as  marking  the  public  spirit  of  the  community  (or  the  gener- 
osity of  a  donor) ;  beauty  and  convenience  of  the  building. 

II.  The  Library  as  a  Community  Center:  equal  opportunity 
for  all,  irrespective  of  income,  race,  or  creed;  instances  of  value 
to  foreign  immigrants,  to  the  **grarfge''  or  other  local  society,  to 
courses  of  lectures,  or  to  other  local  uses. 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  223 

III.  The  Library  for  General  Education  or  Culture:  broadening 
influence  of  comparative  study. 

IV.  The  Library  for  Education  in  a  Trade.  Rising  in  the  world, 
which  is  the  natural  ambition  of  every  American,  depends  on 
broadening  one's  outlook  and  increasing  one's  special  knowledge; 
e.g.,  the  library  gives  opportunities  to  study  designing  for  textiles, 
or  the  strength  of  modern  building  materials  (reinforced  concrete). 
Choose  instances  appropriate  to  the  community. 

V.  The  Library  for  Education  in  Politics.  Demagogues  and 
partisans  of  wild  schemes  can  get  little  hold  on  a  man  who  reads 
for  himself.  Our  government  draws  its  strength  from  the  edu- 
cated intelligence  of  its  citizens. 

3.    THE    READING    OF    ROMANCE 

Occasion.  The  class  having  just  finished  the  study  of  .  .  • 
you  are  chosen  to  speak  on  the  value  of  such  reading  in  education. 

Theme.  Romances  of  chivalry  are  worth  the  study  of  young 
Americans  to-day. 

Paragraplis  —  I.  ...  is  typical  of  class  of  stories  dealing  with 
'*old,  forgotten,  far-off  things  and  battles  long  ago."  Give  other 
instances,  and  describe  typical  scenes. 

II.  Many  people  have  no  taste  for  such  reading,  because  it  is 
not  practical.  Show  wherein  it  is  not  practical.  How  much  of 
our  study  is  practical  in  the  sense  of  bearing  directly  on  the 
business  of  life?  What  is  the  rest  for?  Contrast  these  two 
fields  of  study. 

III.  Stories,  being  primarily  for  pleasure,  belong  mainly  to 
''outside"  or  leisure  reading.  Such  reading  may  be  merely  lazy; 
but  it  need  not  be.  Many  stories  have  a  direct  bearing  on  con- 
duct; e.g.,  stories  of  ''real  life."  Give  instances.  But  romances 
do  not  deal  with  real  life.  They  show  us  not  so  much  what  men 
and  women  are  as  what  they  wish  to  be.  They  "take  us  out  of 
ourselves." 

IV.  Thus  the  value  of  romance  is  in  making  us  love  noble  ideals. 
Give  instances  of  the  chivalrous  ideals  of  romance:  generosity, 
bravery,  courtesy,  devotion  to  a  cause  or  a  person.  Show  the 
value  of  such  ideals  in  our  actual  modem  life. 


224  SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS 


4.    ARBOR   DAY 


Occasion,  At  a  public  tree-planting  you  are  chosen  to  speak  on 
the  significance  of  this  anniversary. 

Theme,  Every  citizen  should  do  his  part  in  preserving  and 
developing  the  nation  ^s  resources. 

Paragraphs  —  I.  Show  the  original  wilderness  wealth  of  this 
country  by  picturing  the  scene  of  the  tree-planting  as  it  must 
have  looked  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Wasteful  methods, 
inculcated  by  the  necessity,  in  the  early  days,  of  clearing  land, 
have  lasted  down  to  our  own  day.  Show  how  our  forests  are 
wasted,  and  describe  a  scene  of  wasting. 

II.  Show  how  we  all  lose  by  this  waste.  Increased  cost  of 
building  and  fuel  means  increased  rent,  etc.  Damage  by  freshets 
and  loss  from  idle  or  ruined  land,  etc.  (describe),  increase  the  price 
of  remaining  land,  taxation,  etc. 

III.  Arbor  Day  is  a  national  protest  against  this  waste.  Show 
what  the  national  government  (Forest  Service)  is  doing  to  make 
trees,  as  well  as  wheat  and  corn,  add  to  the  pubUc  wealth.  We 
must  use,  not  abuse. 

IV.  Our  share  in  this  great  work  is  to  make  our  generation  under- 
stand its  importance,  to  increase  public  sentiment.  Our  tree- 
planting  is  a  symbol.    We  are  the  citizens  of  to-morrow. 

5.    RECLAIMING   BOYS   FOR   CITIZENSHIP 

Occasion,  You  are  appointed  to  address  the  class  on  the  George 
Junior  RepubHc. 

Theme,  A  system  of  self-government  has  succeeded  in  making 
good  citizens  out  of  '* hoodlums." 

Paragraphs  —  I.  One  of  the  most  serious  social  problems  to-day 
concerns  wayward  boys  in  cities.  Describe  the  life  of  young 
marauders  —  damage  to  property  and  other  petty  crimes.  More 
dangerous  is  the  education  in  lawlessness.  These  boys,  to  whom 
every  policeman  is  an  enemy,  are  our  future  voters. 

II.  The  boys  not  altogether  to  blame:  irksome  restrictions  of 
city  life,  no  room  for  free  play,  \afik  of  good  home  influences. 
Describe  the  day  and  night  of  a  poor  boy  in  a  great  city.    Mr. 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  225 

George's  notion  is  that  a  boy  with  wit  and  energy  enough  to  be 
bad  has  energy  enough  to  be  good;  i.e.,  that  he  is  simply  per- 
verted. 

III.  The  public  remedy  of  reform  schools  and  houses  of  correc- 
tion fails  (a)  by  being  applied  after  the  boy  has  already  become 
a  criminal,  and  (6)  by  herding  him  with  other  criminals  imder 
the  repression  of  prison  discipline.  Boys  often  come  out  of  reform 
schools  worse  than  they  went  in. 

IV.  Mr.  George's  first  experiment  was  to  give  the  bad  street- 
boy  room  by  taking  him  into  the  country.  Compare  the  value 
of  "fresh-air"  expeditions.  Describe  the  country  at  Freeville, 
N.  Y.,  Mr.  George's  colony.  The  moral  value  of  abundant  and 
healthful  physical  exercise. 

V.  This  solution  proving  insufficient,  Mr.  George  then  organized 
by  degrees  a  complete  system  of  self-government,  on  the  theory 
that  what  such  boys  need  most  to  learn  is  responsibility  to  the 
community.  Thus  law  is  found  to  be,  not  arbitrary  repression 
from  above,  but  sacrifice  by  the  individual  for  the  good  of  all. 
His  first  application  of  this  was  in  establishing  the  rule  that  every 
member  of  the  community  must  pay  for  the  benefits  of  the  com- 
munity by  work.  The  boys,  soon  finding  that  idlers  were  a  bur- 
den, very  effectually  made  everybody  work. 

VI.  The  system  has  been  worked  out  in  every  detail  of  a  self- 
governing  democracy,  legislation,  judiciary,  police,  banking  and 
currency,  etc.,  all  conducted  by  the  boys  themselves.  Describe 
in  detail,  and  tell  stories  of  particular  cases. 

VII.  The  results  have  been  successful  almost  without  excep- 
tion. .  Describe  and  conclude. 

6.    THE   DISTRICT   ATTORNEY 

Occasion.  The  candidacy  (or  the  election)  of  a  fearless  leader. 

Theme.  The  district  attorney  in  our  modern  municipal  politics 
is  "the  tribune  of  the  people." 

Paragraphs  —  I.  Describe  a  significant  prosecution  famihar  to 
your  hearers.  Show  by  this  and  other  instances  the  present  im- 
portance of  the  district  attorney. 

II.  This  invites  the  legitimate  poHtical  ambition  of  young 
16 


226  SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS 

Americans,  and  in  fact  has  given  opportunity  to  rise  from  poverty 
and  obscurity  (instances)  to  political  eminence. 

III.  But  the  opportunity  for  pubhc  service  is  much  greater 
than  the  opportunity  for  private  ambition.  The  district  attorney 
can  .  .  .  (instances). 

IV.  Thus  the  quahties  demanded  are  .  .  . 

V.  In  such  ways  and  by  such  qualities  the  district  attorney 
embodies  the  rising  popular  desire  to  purify  municipal  pohtics. 

7.    ITALIANS  AS  AMERICANS 

Occasion.  The  Itahans  of  the  city  having  placed  a  statue  of 
Columbus  in  one  of  the  public  squares,  you  are  asked  to  express 
the  significance  of  this  action. 

Theme.  Our  Italian  immigrants  are  becoming  .a  valuable  part 
of  our  social  and  political  life. 

Paragraphs  —  I.  Race  prejudice  is  often  ignorant  and  always 
un-American.  Two  generations  ago  some  advertisements  added 
"No  Irish  need  apply."  Now  these  same  Irish,  who  have  mean- 
time become  thoroughly  Americanized,  to  the  great  gain  of  the 
repubhc,  speak  with  scorn  of  "Dagos." 

II.  Every  one  recognizes  the  picturesqueness  added  to  Amer- 
ican life  by  the  Italians  (describe). 

III.  Though  the  bulk  of  Italian  immigrants  is  of  the  class  of 
day-laborers,  this  class  is  very  important  to  the  development  of 
the  country,  and  in  places  actually  necessary. 

IV.  But  thousands'  of  Italians  have  already  advanced  into 
pursuits  demanding  greater  skill,  and  have  thus  further  developed 
our  industries  (instances  with  description). 

V.  The  tendency  to  congregate  in  city  colonies  is  (a)  not  the 
Itahan's  fault,  and  (d)  steadily  counteracted  by  agencies  of  dis- 
tribution and  assimilation,  e.g.,  public  schools.  Even  the  city 
Italians  were  in  San  Francisco  among  the  first  to  re-establish  them- 
selves after  the  great  fire. 

VI.  This  statue,  the  gift  of  city  ItaUans,  is  striking  evidence  of 
American  feeling  and  of  good  will  to  co-operate  for  civic  advan- 
tage.   We  welcome  it  cordially.  ^ 

(The  idea  of  this  speech  may  be  adapted  to  other  races.) 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  227 

8.    PITTSBURGH 

Occasion.  A  public  commemoration  of  some  amiiversary. 

Theme,  Pittsburgh  is  typical  of  the  industrial  development  of 
the  United  States. 

Paragraphs  —  I.  To  our  elder  citizens  Pittsburgh  seems  to  have 
grown  almost  by  magic.  Compare  descriptively  {e.g.,  using  an  old 
print)  the  Pittsburgh  of  a  himdred  years  ago  with  the  Pittsburgh 
of  to-day. 

II.  This  development  came  partly  from  natural  advantages  of 
situation  (enumerate,  and  refer  to  typical  stages  of  history  de- 
scriptively). 

III.  It  came  more  from  American  enterprise  (typical  instances). 

IV.  The  dangers  arising  in  this  rapid  development  are  also 
typical:  corruption  in  municipal  politics  arising  from  indifference 
to  civic  duty,  ill  feeling  of  labor  toward  capital,  etc. 

V.  Pittsburgh  shows  the  power  and  the  will  of  our  citizens  to 
solve  these  problems:  beneficent  use  of  wealth  for  the  establish- 
ment and  maintenance  of  public  institutions  (Compare  the  speech 
outlined  on  pages  86-88),  mimicipal  reform. 

VI.  Pittsburgh  shows  the  capacity  of  American  hfe  for  beauty 
as  well  as  truth.  (Describe  Pittsburgh  as  a  center  of  music,  paint- 
ing, and  handicraft,  and  show,  with  historical  instances,  the  rela- 
tion of  industrial  development  to  artistic  development). 

(The  topic  may  be  adapted  to  other  typical  American  cities. 
The  following  topics  are  merely  sketched.) 

9.    THE  HAGUE  TRIBUNAL 

I.  Exposition. 

II.  Ideas  on  which  the  Hague  Tribunal  is  founded;  spread  ot 
the  idea  of  arbitration. 

III.  Value  in  reducing  the  evils  of  war  and  the  tendency  to  war. 

IV.  Obstacles. 

V.  Promise  for  the  future. 

10.    THE   CALIFORNIA   MISSIONS 

I.  Describe  Santa  Barbara,  or  another  typical  mission. 

II.  Historical  significances. 


228  SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS 

III.  Survival  of  a  past  civilization. 

IV.  Significance  and  value  in  modern  life. 

11.    LEXINGTON  DAY 

Occasion,  The  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Lexington. 

Theme.  A  few  brave  men,  fighting  for  their  convictions,  turned 
the  course  of  history  for  generations. 

Describe  the  boulder  on  Lexington  green,  and  its  inscription, 
showing  why  Captain  Parker's  words  were  memorable.  Picture 
the  scene  on  that  day.  Show  the  immediate  effects  on  the  col- 
onies, and  the  Lexington  spirit  in  later  events  of  the  Revolution. 
Set  forth  the  Lexington  spirit  fully  with  illustrations.  Apply  it 
to  our  own  time. 

12.    THE   OUT-OF-DOOR   CURE 

An  exhibition  being  held  in  one  of  the  public  buildings  to  show 
the  best  methods  of  preventing  and  checking  the  ''great  white 
plague,"  you  are  asked  to  explain  the  idea  and  details,  and  to 
bring  home  their  importance  to  the  class. 

13.    NATHAN  HALE 

Occasion.  The  dedication  of  a  statue. 
Theme.  Hale's  last  words. 

14.    MARQUETTE 

Occasion.  A  public  commemoration. 

Theme.  (1)  the  success  of  a  life  that  seemed  to  fail,  or  (2)  what 
we  owe  to  the  French  missionary  explorers. 

(Commemorative  speeches,  such  as  the  two  above,  demand 
always  definiteness  of  theme  and  adaptation  to  the  actual  audi- 
ence.   They  offer  large  opportunity  for  incidental  description.) 

15.    THE   UNITED   MINE   WORKERS  OF  AMERICA 

The  ideals  and  practical  development  of  a  typical  American 
labor  union. 


SPEECHES  ON  OCCASIONS  229 

16.  "the  white  man's'  burden" 

The  opportunity,  duty,  and  achievement  of  superior  races 
among  the  inferior:  e.g.y  England  in  India,  the  United  States  in 
the  Phihppines. 

17.  the  frontier 

Describe  a  typical  frontiersman  in  typical  frontier  conditions. 
Show  the  qualities  and  habits  resulting,  their  survival  in  this 
country,  and  their  value  in  our  development. 

18.    A   GREAT  ENGLISH   SCHOOL:  RUGBY 

Exposition,  with  abundant  description,  by  contrast  with  an 
American  preparatory  school:  buildings,  environment,  school  Hfe, 
methods  of  teaching,  athletics,  school  ideals. 

19.    THE  REBUILDING  OF   SAN  FRANCISCO 

Exposition,  with  abundant  description,  of  American  power  of 
recuperation. 

20.    THE   MONROE   DOCTRINE  TO-DAY 

Recent  applications,  with  reference  to  the  present  condition  of 
the  South  American  states. 

21.    THE   COLLEGE   COMMUNITY'S  MEASURE   OF  A  MAN 
22.    THE   AMATEUR   SPIRIT   IN   COLLEGE 

Revision  of  Speeches. — Revision  should  not  be  attempted 
to  any  great  extent  while  one  is  actually  speaking  (page  207 
above).  Better  keep  thoughts  and  words  moving  together 
than  interrupt  the  thought  to  change  the  words.  But 
when  the  whole  has  once  been  spoken,  there  is  profit  in 
writing  out  certain  parts  to  put  them  in  just  the  right  way, 
and  sometimes  in  writing  out  the  whole  to  smooth  transi- 
tions. The  first  lesson  of  form  in  public  speaking,  and 
therefore  the  most  important  consideration  in  revision,  is 
paragraph  emphasis   (pages   83-92).     Next  in  importance 


230  REVISION  OF  SPEECHES 

is  sentence  emphasis  (pages  113-115).  Revision  of  words, 
discussed  in  general  above  (pages  126-141),  needs  special 
attention  with  reference  to  argument. 

Accuracy  in  Words.  —  Both  statement  and  proof  depend 
on  the  use  of  words  that  leave  no  doubt.  Achilles  was  not 
a  hero  —  the  discussion  of  this  will  come  to  nothing  without 
definite  agreement  as  to  the  meaning  of  hero.  First,  then, 
the  proposition  must  be  put  into  words  that  make  the  issue 
clear,  and  must  further  be  expanded  by  an  introductory 
statement,  as  at  pages  182  and  185,  wherever  there  is  any 
risk  of  ambiguity.  Secondly,  the  discussion  must  con- 
stantly beware  of  looseness  in  words.  By  insisting,  for 
ourselves  and  our  opponents,  on  accurate  definitions  and 
clear  distinctions  we  merely  avoid  waste  of  time.  Expres- 
sions that  give  apparent  support  to  a  proposition  by  merely 
stating  it  in  other  terms  are  said  to  "beg  the  question." 
The  government  of  England  is  more  representative  than  ours; 
for  it  answers  more  truly  the  will  of  the  people.  The  second 
member  of  that  sentence  begs  the  question  by  bringing 
forward  as  an  argument  what  is  really  nothing  but  a  restate- 
ment. "  Answers  more  truly  the  will  of  the  people,"  is  only 
another  way  of  saying,  "  more  representative."  Writing  can- 
not be  taught.  If  a  man  has  the  natural  ability  to  write^  he  will 
learn  for  himself;  if  he  has  not,  no  teaching  will  make  him  a 
writer.  This  is  more  plausible;  but,  when  we  scrutinize  the 
terms,  we  find  that  writing  in  the  first  sentence  covers  more 
than  write  and  writer  in  the  second.  The  first  sentence  is  a 
proposition  about  writing  in  general.  The  second  sentence 
tries  to  prove  this  by  assertions  about  that  particular  excel- 
lence in  writing  which  is  called  Hterary.  Therefore  the  oppo- 
nent should  ask  at  once,  What  do  you  mean  by  writing?  If 
you  mean  literature,  there  is  Httle  debate  left.  We  are  not 
here  to  maintain  that  the  writing^  of  poetry,  for  instance, 
can  be  taught.     But  if  you  mean  writing  in  general,  includ- 


REVISION  OF  SPEECHES  231 

ing  reports,  letters,  essays,  speeches,  descriptions,  etc.,  then 
your  reason  does  not  apply.     It  begs  the  question. 

Force  in  Words,  —  A  logical  brief,  a  progressive  para- 
graph plan,  and  scrupulous  accuracy  in  words,  necessary 
as  all  these  are,  will  not  in  themselves  suffice.  They  may 
fail  to  move.  We  need  in  public  speaking,  not  only  to 
prove,  but  to  appeal.  We  need  to  bring  our  message  home. 
Nor  should  appeal  be  thought  of  as  separate  from  proof. 
A  good  speaker  does  not  confine  himself  to  argument  in 
one  part  and  to  appeal  in  another.  True,  he  is  most  careful 
of  appeal  in  his  close.  True  again,  speeches  on  occasion 
offer  more  opportunity  for  appeal  than  speeches  in  debate. 
Nevertheless  a  speaker  should  endeavor  to  appeal  always. 
Not  content  with  the  logic  that  has  satisfied  his  own  reason, 
he  should  always  try  to  bring  this  logic  home  to  his  hearers' 
feelings.  For  if  they  are  not  interested  in  his  points,  if 
they  do  not  care,  he  may  pile  up  reasons  in  vain.  This 
means  that  appeal,  or  bringing  home  to  an  audience,  though 
it  has  more  room  at  some  times  than  at  others,  naturally 
runs  all  through.  It  means  further  that  appeal  depends 
on  the  way  of  putting  a  point,  on  the  choice  of  words.  How 
does  Burke  bring  home  his  point  about  the  fisheries  of 
America?  Not  by  statistics  alone,  but  by  such  concrete 
words  as  stirred  the  sympathy  of  his  hearers  by  suggesting 
pictures  to  their  imagination. 

And  pray.  Sir,  what  in  the  world  is  equal  to  it?  Pass  by  the 
other  parts,  and  look  at  the  manner  in  which  the  people  of  New 
England  have  of  late  carried  on  the  whale  fishery.  Whilst  we 
follow  them  among  the  tumbling  mountains  of  ice,  and  behold 
them  penetrating  into  the  deepest  frozen  recesses  of  Hudson's 
Bay  and  Davis'  Straits,  whilst  we  are  looking  for  them  beneath 
the  Arctic  Circle,  we  hear  that  they  have  pierced  into  the  opposite 
region  of  polar  cold,  that  they  are  at  the  Antipodes,  and  engaged 
under  the  frozen  Serpent  of  the  South.    Falkland  Island,  which 


232  REVISION  OF  SPEECHES 

seemed  too  remote  and  romantic  an  object  for  the  grasp  of  national 
ambition,  is  but  a  stage  and  resting-place  in  the  progress  of  their 
victorious  industry.  Nor  is  the  equinoctial  heat  more  discouraging 
to  them  than  the  accumulated  winter  of  both  the  poles.  We  know 
that  whilst  some  of  them  draw  the  Hne  and  strike  the  harpoon 
on  the  coast  of  Africa,  others  run  the  longitude,  and  pursue  their 
gigantic  game  along  the  coast  of  Brazil. 

—  Burke,  Conciliation  with  America ^  paragraph  30. 

Such  appeal  by  concrete  words  he  makes  again  and  again, 
now  in  a  single  sentence,  now  in  a  whole  passage: 

Already  they  have  topped  the  Appalachian  mountains.  From 
thence  they  behold  before  them  an  immense  plain,  one  vast,  rich, 
level  meadow,  a  square  of  five  hundred  miles.  Over  this  they 
would  wander  without  a  possibility  of  restraint ;  they  would  change 
their  manners  with  the  habits  of  their  life;  they  would  soon 
forget  a  government  by  which  they  were  disowned;  would  become 
hordes  of  English  Tartars;  and,  pouring  down  upon  your  un- 
fortified frontiers  a  fierce  and  irresistible  cavalry,  become  masters 
of  your  governors  and  your  counsellors,  your  collectors  and  comp- 
trollers, and  of  all  the  slaves  that  adhered  to  them.  Such  would, 
and  in  no  long  time  must,  be  the  attempt  to  forbid  as  a  crime, 
and  to  suppress  as  an  evil,  the  command  and  blessing  of  Provi- 
dence, '^Increase  and  multiply."  Such  would  be  the  happy  re- 
sult of  an  endeavour  to  keep  as  a  lair  of  wild  beasts  that  earth 
which  God,  by  an  express  charter,  has  given  to  the  children  of 

—  Conciliation  with  Americay  paragraph  51. 

Yet  Burke  was  most  logical  of  speakers.  Analysis  shows 
his  briefs  to  be  models,  and  the  march  of  his  paragraphs 
irresistible.  His  chief  strength  is  his  structure;  but  his 
words  also  are  no  less  carefully  adapted  to  bring  each  point 
home.  Swift,  in  attempting  to  arouse  Ireland  against  a 
certain  coinage  act,  was  even  more  specifically  concrete; 
for  he  had  to  deal  with  people  of  ^uch  less  average  educa- 
tion than  Burke  addressed  in  Parliament.    Thus  Swift's 


EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE  233 

Drapier^s  Letters  were  written  in  such  simple,  homely  words 
of  feeling  as  appeal  to  the  imagination. 

And  let  me  in  the  next  place  apply  myself  particularly  to  you 
who  are  the  poorer  sort  of  tradesmen.  Perhaps  you  may  think 
you  will  not  be  so  great  losers  as  the  rich  if  these  halfpence  should 
pass;  because  you  seldom  see  any  silver,  and  your  customers  come 
to  your  shops  or  stalls  with  nothing  but  brass,  which  you  likewise 
find  hard  to  be  got.  But  you  may  take  my  word,  whenever  this 
money  gains  footing  among  you,  you  will  be  utterly  undone.  If 
you  carry  these  halfpence  to  a  shop  for  tobacco  or  brandy,  or  any 
other  thing  that  you  want,  the  shopkeeper  will  advance  his  goods 
accordingly,  or  else  he  must  break  and  leave  the  key  under  the 
door.  *Do  you  think  I  will  sell  you  a  yard  of  tenpenny  stuff  for 
twenty  of  Mr.  Wood's  halfpence?  no,  not  under  200  at  least; 
neither  will  I  be  at  the  trouble  of  counting,  but  weigh  them  in  a 
lump.'  I  will  tell  you  one  thing  further,  that  if  Mr.  Wood's  pro- 
ject should  take,  it  would  ruin  even  our  beggars;  for  when  I  give  a 
beggar  a  halfpenny,  it  will  quench  his  thirst,  or  go  a  good  way 
to  fill  his  belly;  but  the  twelfth  part  of  a  halfpenny  will  do  him  no 
more  service  than  if  I  should  give  him  three  pins  out  of  my  sleeve. 

2.  THE  WRITTEN  INTERPRETATION  OF  LITERA- 
TURE 

Beyond  the  writing  that  is  done  for  revision  of  speaking, 
there  is  a  field  for  the  written  presentation  of  facts  as  distinct 
from  the  spoken  —  the  field  usually  covered  by  the  word 
exposition  as  distinct  from  argument.  For  persuasion  we 
naturally  prefer  the  oral  appeal;  for  explanation  we  prefer 
writing,  we  like  to  "have  the  thing  in  black  and  white." 
Thus  what  is  sometimes  called  strict,  or  pure,  exposition, 
excluding  all  argument  or  appeal,  is  better  accomplished 
by  writing.  But  since  the  written  presentation  of  facts 
differs  otherwise  from  the  oral  presentation  of  facts  only  in 
compression,   and   since   all  its  mechanism  of  paragraphs 


234  EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE 

and  sentences  has  been  discussed  in  preceding  chapters, 
we  may  turn  now  to  another  field  of  written  exposition, 
a  field  in  which  facts  have  Httle  to  do,  the  field  of  literature. 
Intensive  Reading  as  Distinct  from  Extensive.  —  Quite 
another  sort  of  reading  is  the  study  of  literature.  In  pre- 
paring speeches  we  are  reading  for  information;  in  studying 
literature  we  are  reading  for  inspiration.  In  the  former 
we  are  concerned  only  with  facts  and  conclusions,  with 
what  is  said;  in  the  latter  we  are  concerned  also  with  form, 
with  how  it  is  said.  We  go  to  Shakespeare's  historical 
plays,  not  for  the  facts  of  English  history,  but  for  the  noble 
beauty  of  verse,  for  imaginations  of  human  character  that 
reach  our  hearts,  for  such  play-building  as  catches,  fixes, 
and  holds  our  interest  up  to  the  final  dramatic  solution. 
Though  both  kinds  of  reading  depend  more  or  less  on  a 
large  library,  the  latter  depends  much  less  than  the  former. 
One  may  go  a  long  way  in  the  study  of  literature  with  a 
few  books  in  his  own  room.  The  books  corresponding  to 
these  two  uses  De  Quincey  called  respectively  books  of 
knowledge  and  books  of  power.  Books  of  knowledge,  being 
many,  various,  and  often  superseded  in  the  progress  of 
science,  are  the  especial  field  of  the  large  pubHc  library. 
The  great  books  of  power,  being  few  and  never  superseded, 
we  may  have  on  our  own  shelves.  The  former  are  books  to 
consult  with  an  eye  simply  to  what  they  contain  for  our 
use  at  the  time.  We  turn  from  one  to  another,  selecting, 
omitting,  comparing,  combining  anew  (page  165).  We 
may  use  several  in  a  single  hour.  The  latter  are  books 
to  ponder  for  what  they  suggest,  to  become  familiar  with, 
not  merely  as  so  much  thought,  but  as  feeling  expressing 
itself  in  beauty.  We  read  them  one  at  a  time  and  slowly. 
The  former  sort  of  reading,  then,  we  may  call  extensive;  the 
latter,  intensive,  \ 


EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE  235 

In  collecting  facts  from  books  of  knowledge  what  books  of  power 
have  you  met?  Instance  a  book  of  knowledge  and  a  book  of  power 
on  the  subject  of  chivalry;  on  two  other  subjects  of  your  own  choos- 
ing. Explain  these  instances  to  make  the  distinction  clear.  Of 
the  books  of  power  included  in  your  present  study  of  literature, 
which  have  also  some  value  as  books  of  knowledge?  Show  thus 
that  the  distinction  sometimes  holds  between  parts  of  the  same 
book,  as  well  as  between  different  sorts  of  books  on  the  same  sub- 
ject. Illustrate  the  discussion  by  the  difference  between  building 
and  architecture.  Contrast  an  experience  of  yours  in  reading  for 
debate  with  an  experience  in  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  work 
of  literature.  Arrange  all  this  for  connected  oral  presentation  in 
five  minutes.    Write  it  out  afterwards  as  an  essay. 

How  Composition  Helps  the  Study  of  Literature.  —  In- 
tensive reading,  too,  as  well  as  extensive,  may  be  furthered 
by  composition.  Though  writing  about  a  piece  of  literature 
is  never  an  important  object  in  reading,  it  may  be  an  impor- 
tant means.  To  read  The  Deserted  Village  in  order  to  write 
about  it  would  be  trivial  and  perverse.  We  read  it  to  appre- 
ciate it,  to  feel  it,  to  get  an  impression.  Nevertheless,  having 
read  it  thus,  we  may  sometimes  realize  better  what  we  feel 
by  trying  to  make  others  sympathize;  we  may  come  to  ap- 
preciate its  art  better  ourselves  by  explaining  its  method  to 
others;  in  a  word,  we  may  sharpen  impression  by  expression. 

Selecting  from  the  literature  recently  studied  in  common  some 
piece  that  appealed  to  you  more  than  to  your  fellows,  try  to  awaken 
more  sympathy  in  them  by  showing  orally  what  aspects  of  it  you 
Hked.  Present  each  of  these  aspects  distinctly  (melody  of  verse, 
excitement  of  plot,  revelation  of  character,  message  to  us,  or 
whatever  else  they  may  be)  but  group  in  one  paragraph  such  minor 
ones  as  you  have  least  to  say  about,  and  put  into  the  last  para- 
graph what  seems  to  you  the  most  important  single  aspect. 

Discuss  in  the  same  way  why does  not  appeal  to  you. 

In  both  cases  use  comparison  and  contrast,  with  abundance  of 
instances.    Write  these  out  afterward  as  essays. 


236  EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE 

To  say  that  this  kind  of  reading  is  different  is  to  say  that 
the  preparation  for  composition  on  it  is  also  different.  In- 
stead of  collecting  facts  as  the  very  object  of  composition, 
we  are  not  dealing,  except  by  the  way,  with  facts  at  all; 
and  our  reading  has  been  slowly  assimilated  before  we 
think  of  writing.  Instead  of  grouping  facts  from  several 
books,  we  group  our  own  opinions  concerning  one  book,  or 
perhaps  one  poem.  Having  appreciated  it,  we  take  account 
of  our  appreciation;  we  analyze  our  impressions  so  as  to 
give  account  of  them  to  others.  We  group  and  order  our 
impressions  because  without  grouping  we  cannot  present. 
To  convey  our  impressions,  we  have  to  arrange  them.  This 
part  of  the  process  is  like  the  preparation  to  present  facts; 
for  all  exposition  demands  a  plan.  But  the  preceding  part 
is  different.  Instead  of  facts  common  to  all,  we  deal  with 
opinions  and  feelings  of  our  own.  Thus  that  kind  of  exposi- 
tion in  which  we  interpret  literature  is  prepared  from 
beginning  to  end  by  thinking.  The  preparation  is  all  in 
one^s  own  head. 

But  suppose  your  opinion  on  a  piece  of  literature  is  hasty, 
biased,  or  ignorant.  Suppose  your  appreciation  is  very 
imperfect  in  your  own  eyes.  Nevertheless  your  expression 
of  it  is  not  worthless.  It  may  be  worth  something  in  gen- 
eral discussion;  it  is  at  least  worth  something  to  yourself. 
The  object  is  not  to  influence  the  opinion  of  the  larger  public. 
That  may  be  left  to  more  expert  critics.  It  is  to  show  what 
literature  means  to  you.  The  value  of  the  study  of  liter- 
ature is  its  value  to  each  student;  and  a  direct  means  of 
enhancing  this  value  is  to  interpret  in  connected  composi- 
tion whatever  appreciation  each  reader  has  reached  for 
himself.  This  does  not  mean  that  he  must  avoid  the  opinions 
of  others.  Novelty  is  no  virtue  here;  and  the  discussion 
of  teacher  and  class,  for  instance,  ou^ht  to  stimulate  appre- 
ciation in  everybody.     Nor  does  it  mean  that  he  must  not 


EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE  237 

read  the  opinions  of  critics.  But  it  does  mean  that  he  should 
first  of  all  read  the  book  itself  by  and  for  himself,  and  that 
throughout  he  should  think  for  himself. 

Write  an  essay  of  three  or  four  paragraphs,  setting  forth  the 
good  qualities  of  a  book  that  you  read  some  time  ago  and  have 
re-read  since.  The  object  is  to  recommend  to  others  what  you 
have  enjoyed  yourself.  Paragraph  I,  Tell  what  kind  of  book 
it  is  (story,  history,  travel,  narrative,  poetry,  speech,  etc.)  and 
give  a  summary  of  its  contents.  Paragraph  IL  Tell  some  of  the 
details  that  you  liked,  e.g.,  description  of  people  or  scenery,  nobil- 
ity or  simplicity  of  language,  clearness  of  arrangement,  humor. 
Paragraph  III.,  etc.  Set  forth  more  fully  what  seems  to  you 
the  chief  point  of  excellence  or  the  quality  that  especially  makes 
the  book  distinct  and  different  from  others. 

Grouping  Notes  of  Literary  Impressions.  —  The  prepara- 
tion for  such  essays  may  be  a  slow  accumulation,  and  indeed 
is  better  so.  Throughout  the  study  of  literature,  one^s  own 
impressions  and  the  ideas  brought  out  in  conversation  and 
class  discussion  may  be  set  down  from  time  to  time  on  slips 
or  cards  (page  163),  or  in  a  loose-leaf  note-book,  and  in- 
dexed by  headings.  By  this  means  there  is  soon  a  plenty 
of  material  from  which  to  choose  and  amplify  topics  for 
essays.  Though  our  appreciation  of  literature  is  happily 
not  confined  to  what  we  can  explain  under  headings,  though 
sometimes  our  enjoyment  of  it  is  too  deUcate  to  be  ana- 
lyzed, still  there  will  always  be  much  that  we  can  explain 
clearly  with  profit  to  others  and  to  ourselves.  Composition 
thus  makes  the  study  of  Uterature  more  definite. 

Notes  of  the  study  of  a  story  can  be  grouped  under  the  general 
headings:  1.  kind,  or  general  character  and  main  traits  (romance 
of  chivalry,  novel  of  modern  manners,  sea-story,  etc.);  2.  plot 
(see  Chapter  viii),  arrangement  of  the  story  to  heighten  interest, 
skill  of  the  author  in  combining  several  plots  and  in  making  each 
situation  appeal  to  our  imagination;  3.  characters,  truth  to  life, 


238  EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE 

distinctness  as  of  real  persons,  or  vagueness  as  of  mere  types,  noble 
traits  of  character,  many  or  few  characters,  etc.;  4.  setting  or  scen- 
ery, skill  in  description,  i.e.,  in  making  us  imagine  the  surround- 
ings; 5.  special  qualities  not  included  under  other  headings.  Thus 
the  details  that  strike  the  attention  separately  during  a  course 
of  study  can  be  grouped  for  connected  exposition. 

Notes  for  the  study  of  a  play  may  be  grouped  largely  under  the 
same  headings.  In  detail  it  is  often  profitable  to  note  why  a 
certain  scene  is  put  in  a  certain  place,  and  what  is  the  effect  of  a 
certain  character  upon  others  in  the  play.  The  time  supposed  to 
be  covered  by  the  action,  the  climax,  crisis,  or  turning-point  of 
the  play,  what  is  supposed  to  have  happened  before  the  curtain 
rises  and  how  these  facts  are  commimicated  to  the  audience, — 
all  these  may  be  sub-headings  under  the  general  heading  of  plot. 
Notes  on  character  may  be  subdivided  into  (a)  character  as  re- 
vealed by  habit  of  speech,  (b)  character  as  revealed  by  actions, 
(c)  character  as  revealed  by  the  opinions  and  attitude  of  other 
characters.  Thus  we  may  judge  the  imaginary  persons  of  a  play 
as  we  judge  the  real  persons  of  actual  life. 

Notes  of  a  poem  may  be  grouped  under:  1.  verse,  meter,  melody 
etc.;  2.  description  of  nature;  3.  style,  or  choice  of  words;  4.  con^ 
ception  and  sentiment,  the  idea  of  the  whole,  the  poet^s  sentiments 
regarding  human  life,  and  his  mood  as  shown  in  particular  pas- 


-^ 


Notes  of  speeches  and  essays  may  be  grouped  under  headings 
from  this  book;  e.g.,  1.  outline,  general  plan  and  progress  of  thought; 
2.  paragraphs;  3.  sentences;  4.  style,  or  choice  of  words. 

Not  all  these  headings  should  be  used  in  every  case,  nor  should 
each  be  confined  always  to  a  single  paragraph.  What  seems  most 
important  or  interesting  in  each  work  should  have  most  space. 
For  the  same  reason,  the  order  of  points  should  be  adjusted  to 
the  subject  and  the  audience.  The  idea  is,  not  to  adopt  the  same 
plan  for  every  essay,  nor  to  make  the  treatment  formal.  On  the 
contrary,  the  treatment  should  freely  reflect  the  feelings  of  the 
writer.  The  idea  of  the  suggested  headings  is  merely  to  group 
the  notes  so  as  to  make  clear  their  bearing.  The  choice  and  use 
of  the  notes  is  a  different  and  a  later  task. 


EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE  239 

Subsidiary  Use  of  Biography  and  History,  —  So  far  noth- 
ing has  been  said  of  notes  on  the  author  and  the  history  of 
his  time.  That  is  because,  for  the  study  of  literature,  the 
first  and  most  important  consideration  is  always  the  book 
itself.  With  this  we  should  usually  begin;  on  this  we  should 
always  spend  most  of  our  time.  The  book  itself  expresses 
the  author's  surroundings,  and  reveals  himself,  better  than 
he  can  be  revealed  by  any  other  means.  The  study  of 
biography  and  history  as  a  means  to  the  appreciation  of 
literature  should  therefore  be  kept  subordinate.  Its  value 
in  this  connection  is  only  to  correct  or  increase  our  impres- 
sions of  the  literature  itself.  And  there  is  another  reason 
for  considering  the  subordinate  study  of  biography  and 
history  separately.  It  is  distinct  from  the  study  of  liter- 
ature proper  in  that  it  deals  with  facts  (see  page  234). 
Thus  its  method,  in  both  preparation  and  presentation,  is 
essentially  the  same  as  that  explained  in  Chapter  i.  and  in 
the  first  section  of  the  present  chapter.  To  prepare  an 
essay  on  certain  aspects  of  Shakespeare's  time  or  on  the 
character  of  Scott  is  much  the  same  task  as  to  prepare  a 
speech  or  essay  on  Lincoln  or  on  our  trade  with  South 
America.  Both  demand  the  collection,  grouping,  and  in- 
terpretation of  facts  as  distinct  from  opinions  and  feelings. 
For  this  reason,  as  well  as  to  keep  such  study  subordinate, 
it  is  well  to  eschew  any  mere  chronological  summary  of 
an  author's  life  Better  consider  his  life  in  such  aspects 
as  are  most  clearly  related  to  his  writing;  or  insert  in  an 
essay  giving  your  own  interpretation  of  his  book  a  para- 
graph on  the  book  as  revealing  the  author. 

Subjects  for  Essays  Interpreting  Literature 

Subjects  from  the  following  list  should  be  chosen  according  to 
one's  familiarity  with  the  books,  and  should  also  suggest  similar 
use  of  other  books. 


240  EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE 

1.  The  Character  of  Cassius  (or  any  other  of  Shakespeare's 
personages).  Group  your  impressions  under  (1)  habit  of  speech, 
(2)  effect  on  the  other  characters  on  the  play,  (3)  actions.  After 
analyzing  thus,  select  what  seem  to  you  the  main  aspects  of  his 
character  for  an  essay  of  three  or  four  paragraphs. 

2.  The  Structure  of  Macbeth  (or  any  other  play).  Use  the  head- 
ings suggested  on  page  238. 

3.  Franklin  as  a  Typical  American,  What  qualities  of  Franklin, 
appearing  in  his  autobiography,  are  typically  American?  Group 
your  impressions  of  his  character  under  these  heads. 

4.  Gray's  Elegy.  (1)  What  is  an  elegy?  Define,  compare, 
contrast,  by  some  investigation  in  the  library.  Theme  of  this 
elegy?  Meter?  Make  this  a  paragraph  of  clear  definition;  but 
arouse  interest  by  beginning  with  some  quotation  that  is  at  once 
striking  and  typical  of  the  whole  poem.  (2)  Discuss  Gray's 
descriptions  of  nature,  giving  instances,  comparisons,  and  con- 
trasts. Close  with  a  summary  of  the  characteristic  traits  of  Gray's 
description.  (3)  Sentiments  regarding  human  life,  mood  of  the 
poet  in  this  and  other  poems,  reflection  of  the  poet's  own  hfe 
(select  incidents  from  his  life  to  show  this).  (4)  Message  and 
impression  of  the  poem  as  a  whole. 

5.  The  Ancient  Mariner  as  a  Ballad.  (1)  Tell  what  a  ballad 
is,  and  give  instances  (see  page  263).  Compare  a  ballad  by  Scott. 
(2)  The  narrative  structure:  select  headings  from  Chapter  viii.; 
compare  the  story-telling  with  that  of  some  old  ballad.  (3)  The 
descriptions.     (4)   The  message  and  impression  of  the  whole. 

6.  Comus  as  a  Mask.  (1)  The  occasion  and  the  theme.  De- 
scribe the  audience,  actors,  and  scene  at  the  opening  as  you  imagine 
them.  Bring  out  the  underlying  idea  or  conception  and  show 
how  it  was  adapted  to  the  circumstances.  (2)  Differentiate  a 
mask  from  other  forms  of  drama  by  comparison  and  contrast,  so 
as  to  bring  out  the  characteristic  traits  of  this  form.  (3)  Con- 
trast certain  parts  that  are  dramatic  in  action  with  other  parts 
that  are  merely  spectacular.  (4)  The  meter,  beauty  of  the  verse, 
incidental  songs.  (5)  Is  Comus  characteristic  of  Milton  as  you 
know  him  from  other  poems  and  from  reading  his  life? 

7.  The  Castle.    From  Scott's  Ivanhoe  ^d  other  of  his  works 


EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE  241 

that  you  have  read,  and  from  reference  books,  explain  fully  a  medi- 
eval castle.    Use  incidental  description  freely. 

8.  A  Tournament,  From  Scott's  Ivanhoe,  Tennyson's  Idylls  of 
the  King,  and  any  other  books  familiar  to  you,  explain  the 
idea  and  methods  of  a  tournament.  Use  incidental  description 
freely. 

9.  Scott  the  Romancer,  Show  how  Scott's  sympathies  and  read- 
ing led  him  to  choose  the  kind  of  subjects  that  are  most  common 
in  his  works. 

10.  Scott  the  Story-teller.  Discuss  under  headings  chosen  from 
Chapter  viii.  Scott's  story-telling  in  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  or  Mar^ 
mion  (Subjects  9  and  10  may  be  combined). 

11.  The  Stage-coach  and  the  Railroad,  De  Quincey,  in  the  thir- 
teenth paragraph  of  his  English  M ail-Coach  (see  page  126),  says: 
'*The  modern  modes  of  travelling  cannot  compare  with  the  old 
mail-coach  system  in  grandeur  and  power."  Does  he  convince 
you  of  this?  Explain  and  describe  *Hhe  old  mail-coach  system" 
as  you  understand  it  from  De  Quincey,  Dickens,  Hughes  {Tom 
Brown  at  Rugby),  or  other  books,  whether  history  or  fiction. 
Contrast  with  this  the  railways  of  1849,  the  date  of  De  Quincey 's 
essay  (Consult  a  cyclopedia  under  Railroad),  How  far  do  De 
Quincey's  objections  stand  against  ste/im  railways  to-day?  Elec- 
tric railways?  Automobiles?  The  subject  may  be  outlined  for 
a  speech  before  it  is  worked  out  as  an  essay. 

12.  The  Coffee  House,  Explain  fully,  with  incidental  descrip- 
tions, London  coffee  houses  in  the  time  of  Addison. 

13.  English  Country  Life,  Compare  the  notions  that  you  get 
of  English  country  life  in  the  early  nineteenth  century  from 
Irving's  Sketch  Book,  George  Eliot's  Silas  Marner,  and  Mrs.  Gas- 
kell's  Cr  an  ford,  with  those  of  country  life  in  the  eighteenth  century 
derived  from  Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield  and  Deserted  Village, 
and  Addison's  papers  in  the  Spectator.  Other  works  may  be  added 
or  substituted. 

14.  Essays  and  Reviews.  Compare  the  method  and  style  of 
an  essay  by  Addison  with  those  of  an  essay  by  Macaulay,  grouping 
your  material  under  headings  chosen  from  this  book;  e.g.,  cohe- 
rence of  the  whole,  use  of  description,  paragraphs,  sentences,  choice 

17 


242  EXPOSITION  OF  LITERATURE 

of  words  as  adapted  to  the  readers  in  each  case,  etc.    Entitle  your 
composition  The  Two  Kinds  of  Essays  (see  page  343). 

15.  Why  Has  the  Pilgrim^ s  Progress  Endured  ?  Write  an  essay 
to  explain  the  enduring  popularity  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  and 
its  acknowledged  rank  as  a  classic  of  English  literature.  Show  the 
extent  of  its  popularity  and  the  causes,  the  popular  qualities  that 
you  yourself  find  in  the  book.  Compare  it  in  this  regard  with 
other  books.  Are  classic  and  popular  synonymous?  Are  all 
works  of  enduring  popularity  classic?  Give  instances.  Devote 
a  paragraph  to  making  quite  clear  what  is  meant  by  calling  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress  classic.  Conclude  with  a  summary  of  its  funda- 
mental qualities. 

16.  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  as  an  Allegory,  (1)  Definition  of 
allegory,  with  instances.  (2)  Comparison  with  other  allegories, 
especially  with  those  of  life  as  a  pilgrimage.  (3)  Consistency  of 
this  allegory,  whether  it  is  carried  out  clearly  and  naturally;  e,g., 
do  you  feel  yourself  excited  by  certain  parts  as  by  real  life?  Does 
the  allegory  seem  sometimes  to  be  forgotten? 

17.  The  Character  of  Bunyan  (or  of  some  other  author).  Write, 
not  a  chronological  summary  of  his  life,  but  an  estimate  of  his 
character  in  its  most  striking  traits. 

18.  The  Puritans  of  Bunyan's  Time;  e.g.,  what  they  believed, 
how  they  looked  and  acted  (contrast  with  the  Cavaliers;  describe), 
why  they  were  dishked,  what  they  accomplished.  Use  your  read- 
ing of  the  Pilgrim's  ProgresSj  the  character  of  Malvolio  in  Twelfth 
Night,  and  any  other  works  of  fiction  known  to  you,  as  well  as 
your  knowledge  of  English  and  American  history. 

19.  Milton  as  a  Puritan,  (1)  Explain  who  the  Puritans  were 
and  what  they  stood  for.  (2)  Tell  of  Milton's  political  activ- 
ities. (3)  Certain  Puritan  qualities  in  Milton's  poems.  (4)  The 
main  traits  of  the  man,  as  we  gather  them  from  his  work  and  his 
life;  how  far  his  religious  attitude  affected  his  art.  Make  any 
contrast  that  you  can  (A  striking  contrast  is  Dante). 

20.  Bunyan's  Use  of  the  Bible,  Group  in  four  or  five  paragraphs 
some  of  the  following;  and  arrange  the  paragraphs  in  such  order 
as  will  make  a  progressive  essay. 

(a)   What  translation  of  the  Bible  did  Bunyan  use?    When  and 


IMITATION  243 

by  whom  was  it  made?    Has  it  had  much  influence  on  English 
religion?  on  English  thought  in  general?  on  English  literature? 

(6)  Does  Bunyan  seem  usually  to  copy  texts  or  to  quote  from 
memory? 

(c)  In  what  sense  is  Bunyan 's  style  Biblical?  Mention  two 
passages  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  which  are  derived  directly  from 
the  Bible,  and  tell  how  the  Bible  is  used  in  them. 

(d)  Is  Bunyan 's  use  of  the  Bible  like  that  of  the  Puritans  of 
his  time? 

(e)  Compare  Bunyan 's  use  of  the  Bible  with  that  of  some  other 
author. 

(/)  Does  Bunyan  seem  to  have  read  the  Bible  as  a  collection  of 
books  or  as  a  collection  of  texts?  Does  he  usually  speak  of  books, 
or  of  separate  passages? 

(g)  Is  Bunyan 's  simplicity  due  to  the  influence  of  the  Bible? 

Imitation  to  Heighten  Appreciation,  —  Another  way  of 
applying  composition  to  further  the  study  of  literature  is 
imitation.  Instead  of  explaining  our  appreciation,  we  try 
to  show  it  by  writing  in  the  same  way.  This  sort  of  writing, 
of  course,  is  quite  limited.  To  attempt  a  scene  like  one  of 
Shakespeare's  would  be  absurd.  No  less  absurd  would  be 
the  attempt  to  equal  the  literary  excellence  of  any  other 
great  author.  But  without  trying  to  imitate  the  inimitable, 
and  without  any  thought  of  equaling  our  models,  we  may 
yet  heighten  our  feeling  for  some  works  by  trying  to  follow 
their  methods  and,  to  some  extent,  their  style.  Thus  we 
come  to  appreciate  them  better. 

Write  Spectator  papers  on  some  of  the  following,  or  other  topics 
of  your  own  choice.  Instead  of  using  obsolete  turns  of  expression, 
try  by  using  Addison's  methods  to  reach  something  like  the  im- 
pression that  he  makes  on  you.  The  length  of  these  essays  is 
\m  import  ant.  Instead  of  a  single  long  essay,  several  short  ones 
(150-200  words)  on  as  many  different  topics  may  be  much  more 
profitable. 


244 


IMITATION 


The  Country  Store. 
Uncle  Bob  at  the  Theater. 
A  Country  Sunday. 
One-cent  Newspapers. 
A  Certain  Tendency  of  Woman- 
kind in  Leaving  a  Street-car. 
Chicago  Lodgings. 
My  Friend  the  Captain. 
St.  Valentine's  Day. 
On  Studying  Human  Nature. 
Election  Speeches  in  the  Street. 
The  Bridge. 
The  Idle  Rich. 
Modern  Gipsies. 
Pin  Money. 
''Hoodlums.'' 
On  the  River. 
Economy  of  Time. 
False  Shame. 


On  Being  a  Good  Fellow. 

'*  Strap-hangers." 

Talking  about  One's  Health. 

Bill  Boards. 

A  Lady's  Library. 

Public  Manners. 

The     Real    Farmer    and    the 

Comic-paper  Farmer. 
''Extra!    Just  Out!" 
Practical  Jokes. 
The  Ward  Boss. 
Public  Speaking  To-day. 
The  Art  of  Conversation. 
Stage  Properties. 
The  Old  Meeting-house. 
"Takmg  to  the  Woods." 
Sunday  Newspapers. 
The  Village  Loafer. 
The  Circus. 


Some  of  these  topics  suggest  a  more  expository,  some  a  more 
descriptive,  treatment.  In  this  variety  they  are  like  Addison's; 
and,  like  Addison,  the  student  should  aim  to  make  every  essay, 
whatever  its  main  object,  interesting  by  abundance  of  descriptive 
detail. 

(The  following  assignments  are  intended  as  suggestive  of  others. 
Such  work  should  be  adapted  to  the  individual  and  offer  consid- 
erable range  of  choice.) 

Write  an  essay  (500-600  words)  in  the  style  of  the  two  opening 
and  the  three  closing  paragraphs  of  De  Quincey's  Joan  of  Arc  on 
some  historical  person  that  you  admire,  or  some  historical  scene 
that  stirs  your  imagination;  e.gr.,  Nathan  Hale,  The  Execution  of 
Andre,  Montcalm  at  Quebec.  Try  not  to  use  De  Quincey's 
phrases,  but  to  keep  a  similar  tone  or  style. 

Taking  hints  of  method  from  paragraphs  VI  to  X  of  De  Quin- 
cey's Joan  of  ArCy  write  on  The  Cross-Ro^ds,  choosing  as  your 
subject  Albany  in  the  Revolution,  for  instance,  or  some  other 


IMITATION  246 

important  cross-roads  at  a  particular  period  of  history,  and  imag- 
ining how  it  must  have  seemed  to  live  there  then. 
"  Taking  hints  of  method  from  paragraphs  XX  to  XXII  of  De 
Quincey's  English  Mail-Coach  (Going  Down  with  Victory),  de- 
scribe a  crowd  that  you  have  seen  waiting  for  some  great  news, 
as  of  war  or  election. 

Write  a  character  sketch  of  Mr.  By-Ends,  or  some  other  person 
in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  using  the  headings  suggested  at  page  240 
for  analysis  of  the  characters  of  Shakespeare. 

Outline  a  character  sketch  of  some  real  person  who  reminds 
you  of  a  person  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Instead  of  working 
this  out  as  an  essay,  describe  him  as  to  looks,  actions,  attitudes, 
speech,  etc.,  and  suggest  how  he  is  regarded  by  his  companions.^ 

Now  write  a  dialogue  between  this  person  and  a  companion, 
imitating  Bunyan's  method,  but  keeping  to  the  language  of  our 
own  day.  Try  to  make  both  these  persons  speak  and  act  accord- 
ing to  their  characters. 

Compose  in  the  language  and  characters  of  our  own  day  a  scene 
like  the  one  between  Christian  and  Hopeful  and  Mr.  Demas.  Make 
Mr.  Demas  an  unprincipled  stock-broker,  for  instance,  and  put 
the  scene  in  Wall  Street.  Imitate  another  scene  of  the  Pilgrim^ s 
Progress  in  the  same  way. 

Write  in  the  style  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  the  dialogue  between 
Little-Faith  and  the  robbers. 

Write  part  of  the  Vanity  Fair  chapter  in  the  language,  charac- 
ters, and  surroundings  of  our  own  day,  setting  the  scene  at  Coney 
Island,  in  the  Bowery  of  New  York,  Kearny  Street  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, Butte  in  Montana,  the  pleasure-ground  of  some  great  exposi- 
tion, or  some  other  appropriate  place  known  to  you. 

How  Literature  Helps  the  Study  of  Composition.  —  But 
helpful  as  imitation  may  be  in  heightening  appreciation  of 
literature,  it  is  far  more  widely  helpful  in  improving  our 
own  composition.  Every  chapter  of  this  book  brings  in 
literature  to  the  help  of  composition.     From  the  masters 

*  For  descriptive  methods,  see  Chapter  ii.,  and  page  254  below. 


246  IMITATION 

we  learn  method.  Imitation  for  this  purpose  is  not  of 
style,  but  of  structure,  of  composition  in  the  literal  sense, 
of  the  way  of  putting  together.  Macaulay  will  show  us 
how  to  develop  a  paragraph  or  balance  a  sentence;  Burke, 
how  to  group  facts  and  build  up  a  progressive  series  of 
paragraphs;  Dickens,  how  to  describe  vividly  by  concrete 
detail.  In  each  author  we  study  most  that  particular 
method  in  which  he  excels.  The  result  is  not  at  all  a  patch- 
work or  composite  of  other  people;  for  we  deal  with  our 
own  matter.  What  we  write  is  our  own.  We  do  not  write 
on  conciliation  with  America  because  Burke  wrote  on  it; 
we  learn  from  Burke  how  to  make  more  effective  our  own 
debate  on  the  increase  of  the  navy.  We  learn  from  Macaulay 
how  to  make  our  interpretation  of  literature  clear  and  in- 
teresting. We  learn  from  Dickens's  description  of  the 
Cratchits'  Christmas  dinner  how  to  make  more  lively  our 
own  descriptions  of  Thanksgiving  Day.  In  a  word,  this 
kind  of  study  should  be,  not  paraphrase  of  an  author's 
matter,  but  imitation  of  his  method.^ 

^  For  systematic  application  of  this  principle,  see  the  present  author's 
How  to  Writej  a  Handbook  Based  on  the  English  Bible  (The  Macmillan 
Company).  A  different  method  of  imitation,  admitting  more  para- 
phrase, is  applied  in  detail  to  Irving's  Sketch  Book  by  the  Rev.  Francis 
P.  Donnelly  in  his  Imitation  and  Analysis  (Allyn  and  Bacon). 


CHAPTER  VIII 
INTEREST  BY  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

Themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  should  be  short  stories.  The 
difficulty  of  this  task  for  most  students  precludes  any  such  degree 
of  achievement  as  is  possible  in  argument  and  exposition;  but  the 
very  effort  is  of  direct  value  in  heightening  appreciation  of  lit" 
erature.  Therefore  the  stories  written  out  from  beginning  to 
end  should  be  few,  and  very  carefully  revised  as  a  study  in  height- 
ening interest  by  the  form,  or  plan,  of  the  whole.  Other  stories 
may  be  merely  planned,  i.e.,  thought  out  as  to  characters,  scene, 
time-lapse,  opening,  etc.  Thus  a  single  plot  may  sometimes  be 
assigned  to  the  whole  class  for  each  to  plan  and  all  to  discuss 
together.  In  such  cases  it  is  well  to  write  out  the  first  hundred 
words  or  two;  for  the  way  of  beginning  shows  pretty  well  how  one 
has  grasped  the  notion  of  narrative  structure,  or  plan.  Such  plan, 
or  outline,  as  is  taught  in  the  preceding  chapters  for  exposition 
and  argument  must  be  studiously  avoided  for  narrative.  The 
main  lesson  of  this  chapter  is  that  narrative  form  is  quite  dis- 
tinct. Excellent  additional  practice  may  be  found  in  reviewing 
description  with  such  assignments  as  are  suggested  in  Chapter  ii; 
for  narrative  differs  from  description  mainly  in  that  sustained 
structure  which  is  the  studenfs  greatest  difficulty.  Without  being 
able  to  sustain  a  story  of  any  length,  he  may  yet  learn  to  make 
single  suggestive  scenes  interesting  and  significant.  Several 
scenes  of  this  sort  are  suggested  as  exercises  in  the  text. 

Besides  the  writing  and  planning  of  stories,  there  should  be  written 
as  well  as  oral  expositions  of  stories  assigned  for  analysis. 
{Compare  pages  235-240.)  Further  suggestions  will  be  found  in 
the  text. 

247 


248  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

1.  STORY-TELLING  AS  UNIVERSAL 

Of  all  writing  and  speaking,  the  most  popular  is  the  telling 
of  stories.  This  has  been  so  always,  from  the  days  when 
men  lived  in  huts  and  sat  about  a  fire  on  the  ground.  In- 
•deed,  when  we  go  back  now  to  such  primitive  customs, 
when  we  sit  about  the  camp-fire  in  vacation,  we  feel  most 
appropriately  the  primitive  impulse  to  hear  and  tell  stories; 
but  even  in  ordinary  routine  few  days  pass  without  story- 
telling. Story-reading,  too,  in  one  form  or  another,  fills  a 
large  part  of  the  time  that  we  spend  on  books.  Sixty  per 
cent  of  the  books  drawn  from  our  public  libraries  is  fiction; 
our  newspapers  consist  largely  of  stories  of  fact;  in  short, 
the  most  constant  and  extensive  kind  of  composition  is 
narrative,  or  story. 

Yet  some  people  continue  to  do  it  very  ill.  Though 
every  one  has  to  write  letters,  many  people  never  learn  to 
write  them  well;  though  every  one  has  to  tell  stories,  many 
people  have  never  learned  to  make  them  interesting.  Be- 
sides lack  of  education,  this  shows  two  things :  first,  that 
story-telling  is  an  art;  second,  that  its  main  object  is  to  be 
interesting.  Story-telling  is  an  art  evidently,  because  the 
same  events  become  in  one  man's  mouth  confused  and 
tedious,  in  another's  clear  and  hvely.  Its  first  object  is  to 
be  interesting,  because  everything  else  depends  on  that. 
The  ultimate  object  of  a  story  may  be  to  convey  information, 
or  to  instruct  by  example,  or  merely  to  amuse;  but  none  of 
these  things  can  it  accomplish  unless  it  is  interesting.  In 
order  to  influence  a  reader,  the  story-teller  must  first  learn 
how  to  hold  his  interest.  An  essay  may  perhaps  succeed 
merely  by  being  clear;  but  a  story  will  not  succeed  at  all 
unless  it  is  interesting. 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  249 

2.   STORY-TELLING  AS  CONCRETE 

The  art  of  story-telling,  then,  means  the  ways  of  making 
a  story  interesting.  Interest  in  general  depends  first  on 
adaptation  to  the  audience,  and  secondly  on  abundance  of 
definite,  concrete  detail.  Children  of  fairy-tale  age  like  to 
begin  with  "  Once  upon  a  time.''  Older  readers  usually  pre- 
fer a  story  that  omits  all  introductory  explanation;  they 
had  rather  begin  as  it  were  in  the  middle.  But  all  readers 
and  hearers  alike,  whatever  their  age  or  race,  enjoy  abun- 
dance of  concrete  detail.  Every  one  likes  in  a  story  to  have 
his  imagination  stirred  by  specific  mention  of  colors,  atti- 
tudes, smells,  and  other  matters  of  sensation,  but,  above  all, 
of  the  details  of  motion  and  sound. 

This  is  one  reason  for  the  popularity  of  the  Ancient  Manner 
with  young  and  old  alike.  From  beginning  to  end  it  is 
very  concrete,  constantly  suggesting  to  the  imagination 
sights  and  sounds  and  movement. 

The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall. 

Red  as  a  rose  is  she. 
Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes 

The  merry  minstrelsy. 

The  wedding  gtiest  he  beat  his  breast, 

Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man. 

The  bright-eyed  mariner. 

"And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  he 

Was  tyrannous  and  strong. 
He  struck  with  his  o  'ertaking  wings 

And  chased  us  south  along. 

"  With  sloping  masts  and  dripping  prow, 

As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe 


250  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

And  forward  bends  his  head, 
The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the  blast, 
And  southward  aye  we  fled." 

Point  out  the  concrete  detail  in  the  passage  above:  sound, 
motion,  attitude,  color,  etc.  Choose  from  one  of  your  favorite 
stories  in  verse  or  prose  a  passage  containing  abundance  of  con- 
crete detail.     Bring  this  to  read  aloud  and  discuss  in  class. 

Point  out  the  concrete  detail  in  the  following  newspaper  story. 

Walter of  AUentown,  Penn.,  is  spending  a  few  days  in  this 

burg.  He  may  stay  longer  if  he  likes  the  lay  of  the  land  —  also  if 
he  sells  his  bay  mare  and  single  buggy. 

It  was  four  or  five  days  ago  when  Walt  hitched  up  Bess  to  his 
single,  topless  buggy  down  near  AUentown,  and,  saying  good-by 
to  the  boiler  shops  and  other  show  places  in  AUentown,  started 
for  New  York  City. 

He  had  only  a  few  dollars  in  his  pocket,  but  he  had  those  things 
in  his  buggy  which  would  carry  him  along  the  route.  There  were 
three  half -gallon  jars  of  mother's  peach  marmalade,  a  jar  of  quince 
preserves,  and  another  of  strawberry  jam.  He  had  four  pounds 
of  country  butter,  a  peck  of  potatoes,  a  slab  of  bacon,  coffee  and 
sugar,  salt  and  pepper,  and  four  or  five  huge  loaves  of  mother's 
bread. 

There  was  a  sack  of  mixed  feed  for  Bess,  and  a  bucket  out  of 
which  he  could  water  her  at  the  passing  brooks.  As  for  himself, 
he  wore  all  three  of  his  suits  of  clothes,  and  in  addition  carried  two 
big  blankets  as  supplemental  protection  from  chill  night  airs. 

,  thirty  or  thereabout,  he  says,  is  a  blacksmith.    He  brought 

a  kit  of  tools  with  him  in  the  buggy. 

What  may  have  been  the  adventures  of along  the  road 

from  AUentown  is  not  now  known,  for  he  is  a  taciturn  young 
man.  At  any  rate  he  reached  Harlem  yesterday  at  the  very  popu- 
lar and  proper  Sunday  hour  of  4  a.m.  He  swung  Bess  under  the 
Central  Railway  elevated  structure  at  Park  Avenue  and  133d 
Street  and  prepared  for  a  short  rest  before  penetrating  further 
into  the  strange  country.  ^ 

He  gave  Bess  a  bucket  of  water,  tied  a  bag  of  feed  over  her 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  251 

head,  loosened  her  harness,  and  then  began  on  a  little  snack  foi 
himself  before  turning  in.  He  was  munching  bacon,  boiled  po- 
tatoes, bread  and  butter,  and  preserves  when  PoHceman  Shevlin 
of  the  East  126th  Street  Station  walked  up  to  the  side  of  the 
buggy  and  asked  Walt  what  he  thought  he  was  doing. 

was  just  about  ready  to  pull  the  two  blankets  over  him 

and  go  to  sleep,  and  was  in  a  peevish  mood,  so  he  answered  Shev- 
lin thus : 

"I  don't  know  as  thet's  any  of  your  business,  whoever  you  be." 

He  then  curled  up  on  the  seat  for  his  snooze.     Shevlin  got  up 

on  the  buggy  seat.    He  told  Mr. that  he  couldn't  camp  in 

the  streets  of  the  metropolis,  whatever  he  could  do  out  in  the 
country. 

"Huh!  think  I'm  from  the  country?"  asked . 

"I  do,"  quoth  Shevlin;  ''just  got  in." 

"You're  right,"  murmured  Walt,  whereupon  he  lay  down  to 
sleep  again. 

Well  what  with  ShevHn  trjdng  to  enforce  the  majesty  of  metro- 
politan law  upon  Walt  and  his  desire  to  sleep  in  his  own  way, 
there  came  about  what  must  have  been  a  great  fight.  When  it 
was  over  Shevlin  had  whip  marks  all  over  his  face  and  Walt  had 
club  dents  on  his  head. 

With  assistance,  Shevlin  got  Walt  to  the  East  126th  Street 
Station,  where  he  was  locked  up  as  a  disorderly  person.  Bess 
and  the  buggy  were  put  in  a  stable  at  153  East  126th  Street. 

Mr. was  much  incensed  when  he  told  his  story  to  Magis- 
trate Harris  in  Harlem  Court  later  in  the  day.  The  Magistrate 
himself  thought  that  if  Walt  had  needed  punishment  he  had  already 
got  it,  and  so  he  turned  him  loose. 

Mr. went  back  to  the  stable,  had  a  good  dinner  out  of 

his  supplies,  and  then  started  out  to  hunt  a  room.  He  said  that, 
in  spite  of  the  police,  he  thought,  taking  one  thing  with  another, 
that  New  York  City  was  "a  purty  good  sort  of  a  place  to  Uve  in 
—  leastways  for  a  while." 

He  left  word  at  the  stable  to  try  to  find  a  purchaser  for  Bess 
and  the  single  buggy.  He  left  the  stable  with  his  three  suits  on 
and  two  $2  bills  stowed  in  them.    He  got  back  to  the  stable  last 


252  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

midnight  for  a  cold  snack.    He  said  confidently  to  one  of  the  stable 
boys: 

"Well,  bub,  I  guess  IVe  seen  a  little  bit  of  this  yer  town  to-day. 
She's  great.''  _  ^^^  ^.^^^  ^.^^^^  ^^^  ^^  ^^^^^ 

Compare  as  to  abundance  of  concrete  detail  two  different  news- 
paper stories  of  another  event  chosen  by  you  as  interesting. 

Prepare  an  oral  report  to  show  the  application  of  the  passage 
from  Macaulay  quoted  on  page  314  to  this  section. 

The  first  way  of  interest,  then,  is  to  tell  the  story  in  the 
concrete,  to  give  the  light,  sound,  color,  and  movement  of 
things,  and  especially  the  gesture,  attitude,  and  speech  of 
persons.  For  this  is  the  way  to  put  the  reader  there,  to 
make  him  imagine  himself  in  the  scene.  By  this  means  a 
reader  enters  into  the  story  instead  of  having  it  explained. 
Now  to  explain  a  story  is  to  forfeit  interest.  Among  the 
greatest  bores  are  the  people  who  insist  on  stopping  to 
explain  each  incident  instead  of  trusting  to  our  imagination. 
"Go  on,"  we  feel  like  saying,  "Tell  me  what  happened, 
what  the  people  said,  how  they  looked  and  moved.  Then 
I  shall  understand  as  much  as  you  did.''  For  the  way  to 
be  Hvely  in  story-telhng  is  not  to  sum  up  in  explanation, 
but  to  choose  those  concrete  details  which,  as  we  say,  tell 
the  tale. 

After  the  battle  with  Mordred,  Sir  Bevidere  bore  King  Arthur 
from  the  field,  threw  the  magic  sword  back  into  the  lake,  and 
placed  his  master  on  the  mystic  barge.  Compare  as  to  abundance 
of  concrete  detail  Malory's  story  of  these  events  jn  the  twenty- 
first  book  of  the  Morte  d^ Arthur  with  Tennyson's  in  the  Idylls  of 
the  King, 

A  child  has  just  fallen  off  the  end  of  a  crowded  pier  into  the 
water.  Instantly  there  is  consternation,  confusion,  clamor,  attempt 
at  rescue.  Instead  of  explaining  in  such  abstVact  terms,  tell  how 
the  crowd  moved,  what  the  mother  said  and  did  and  how  she 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  253 

looked,  how  a  lad  dived,  etc.  Try  to  give  the  impression  of  con- 
sternation, etc.,  without  using  any  such  word,  merely  by  what 
people  say  and  do.  Stir  the  imagination  to  picture  the  scene. 
Use  the  preceding  story  on  page  250  as  a  model  in  any  point  of 
method  that  seems  to  you  effective  ;6.gf.,  the  use  of  dialogue. 

Express  the  happiness  of  a  family  reunion  on  Thanksgiving 
Day  by  telling  of  the  arrival  of  the  grandchildren  and  the  gather- 
ing about  the  dinner  table.  Just  as  the  company  sits  down 
the  yoimgest  son  unexpectedly  returns  from  the  Klondike. 

Two  men  in  an  automobile,  after  listening  at  the  top  of  a  hill, 
swung  rapidly  down  grade  around  a  curve  to  cross  a  railway. 
Just  as  they  were  about  to  cross,  they  became  aware  of  a  fast 
express  almost  upon  them.  By  reversing  and  braking,  the  driver 
halted  the  machine  within  three  feet  of  the  passing  train.  As  if 
you  were  the  driver,  tell  your  sensations  and  motions  and  what 
you  saw  and  heard  of  your  friend's.  Then  write  another  story 
as  if  you  were  the  engineer  of  the  express. 

Two  travelers  in  an  automobile  were  attacked  by  timber  wolves 
in  a  solitary  part  of  Wyoming.  Being  unable  to  draw  away  on 
account  of  the  steep  grade  and  the  mud  and  snow,  or  to  frighten 
the  wolves  by  the  horn  or  head-light,  they  fired  as  the  circling 
animals  closed  in.  Stopping  only  to  devour  the  dead,  the  others 
closed  in  again.  Ten  wolves  were  killed,  and  the  ammunition 
nearly  exhausted,  before  the  pack  fled. 

A  fireman  is  carrying  a  half -suffocated  woman  along  the  cornice 
of  a  burning  building.  He  reaches  the  ladder,  slips,  recovers, 
descends.  Make  the  incident  vivid  by  telling  what  the  watching 
crowd  below  said  and  did. 

The  assassination  of  Lincoln  was  announced  in  the  midst  of 
business  on  Wall  Street.  How  do  you  imagine  the  shock  to  have 
affected  people?  Tell  the  incident  by  imagining  what  people  said 
and  did.  Close  the  story  with  Garfield's  standing  on  the  steps  of 
the  sub-treasury  to  say,  ^*God  reigns,  and  the  government  at  Wash- 
ington still  lives." 

The  winter  at  Valley  Forge  was  full  of  privation  for  the  Conti- 
nental Army.  What  does  privation  mean  in  concrete,  physical 
details?     Did   the  men   have  blankets  enough?    Shoes?    What 


254  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

did  they  have  to  eat?  Collecting  as  many  of  such  concrete  details 
as  you  can  from  histories,  weave  them  (review  pages  56-60)  into 
the  story  of  a  young  enlisted  farmer  who  (1)  resolved  at  his  scanty 
camp  breakfast  to  endure  such  hardship  no  longer,  (2)  complained 
to  his  captain,  and  (3)  was  abashed  and  silenced,  at  the  unexpected 
arrival  of  Washington,  by  discovering  that  the  general  fared  no 
better  than  the  men.  (4)  Going  back  to  his  hut  and  finding  his 
comrades  ....  he  said  ....  Try  throughout  to  suggest  the 
recruit's  character  by  his  manner  of  speech  and  action. 

Concrete  Revelation  of  Character.  —  The  last  exercise 
suggests  that  talk  and  actions  may  reveal  something  of 
each  person's  feeling  and  character.  For  concrete  detail  is 
especially  effective  in  putting  the  reader  there  when  it 
awakens  sympathy  with  persons.  A  woman's  way  of  talk- 
ing or  walking,  a  man's  gestures,  the  physical  expression  of 
excitement  by  pallor  or  trembUng  of  the  hands,  —  such 
things  in  actual  life  are  very  eloquent  to  us  of  states  of 
mind,  and,  when  they  are  habitual,  reveal  character.  So 
in  story-telling  the  most  important  use  of  concrete  detail  is 
for  revelation  of  emotion  and  character.  Thus  Dante  tells 
by  concrete  details  the  anguish  of  a  father  imprisoned  with 
his  sons  and  seeing  them  starve  with  him. 

When  I  awoke  before  the  morrow,  I  heard  my  sons,  who  were 
with  me,  wailing  in  their  sleep  and  asking  for  bread.  Truly  thou 
art  cruel  if  already  thou  grievest  not,  thinking  on  what  my  heart 
foretold;  and  if  thou  weepest  not,  at  what  art  thou  wont  to  weep? 
Now  they  were  awake,  and  the  hour  drew  near  when  food  was 
wont  to  be  brought  to  us,  and  because  of  his  dreams  each  one 
was  apprehensive.  And  I  heard  the  door  below  of  the  horrible 
tower  locking  up ;  whereat  I  looked  on  the  faces  of  my  sons  without 
saying  a  word.  I  wept  not,  I  was  so  turned  to  stone  within.  They 
wept;  and  my  poor  little  Anselm  said,  **Thou  lookest  so,  father; 
what  aileth  thee?"  Yet  I  did  not  weep;  i\or  did  I  answer  all 
that  day,  nor  the  night  after,  until  the  next  sun  came  out  upon 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  255 

the  world.  When  a  little  ray  entered  the  woeful  prison,  and  I 
discerned  by  their  four  faces  my  own  very  aspect,  both  my  hands  I 
bit  for  woe. 

—  Dante,  The  Divine  Comedy ^  Hellj 

Canto  xxxiii  (Norton's  translation). 

Thus  Thackeray  expresses  in  a  significant  action  the 
feeling  and  character  of  General  Webb  when  he  found 
himself  cheated  of  due  honor  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's 
report  in  the  gazette. 

Mr.  Webb,  reading  the  gazette,  looked  very  strange  —  slapped 
it  down  on  the  table  —  then  sprung  up  in  his  place,  and  began, 
'*Will  your  Highness  please  to  — " 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  here  jumped  up  too  — 
'* There's  some  mistake,  my  dear  General  Webb." 

**Your  Grace  had  best  rectify  it,"  says  Mr.  Webb,  holding  out 
the  letter.  But  he  was  five  feet  off  his  Grace  the  Prince-Duke, 
who  besides  was  higher  than  the  General  .  .  .  and  Webb  could 
not  reach  him,  tall  as  he  was. 

^^Stay,"  says  he  with  a  smile,  as  if  catching  at  some  idea;  and 
then,  with  a  perfect  courtesy,  drawing  his  sword,  he  ran  the 
gazette  through  with  the  point  and  said,  ^*  Permit  me  to  hand  it 
to  your  Grace." 

—  Thackeray,  Henry  Esmond,  Book  II.  Chapter  xv. 

A  critical  moment  in  Silas  Marner  is  brought  home  to  us 
by  the  same  means.  , 

"But  you  must  make  sure,  Eppie,"  said  Silas,  in  a  low  voice  — 
"you  must  make  sure  as  you  won't  ever  be  sorry  because  you've 
made  your  choice  to  stay  among  poor  folks,  and  with  poor  clothes 
and  things,  when  you  might  ha'  had  everything  o'  the  best."  . .  . 

"I  can  never  be  sorry,  father,"  said  Eppie.  "I  shouldn't  know 
what  to  think  on  or  to  wish  for  with  fine  things  about  me,  as  I 
haven't  been  used  to.  And  it  'ud  be  poor  work  for  me  to  put  on 
things  and  ride  in  a  gig,  and  sit  in  a  place  at  church,  as  'ud  make 


256  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

them  as  I  'm  fond  of  think  me  unfitting  company  for  'em.    What 
could  /  care  for  then?" 

Nancy  looked  at  Godfrey  with  a  pained,  questioning  glance. 
But  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  floor,  where  he  was  moving  the  end 
of  his  stick,  as  if  he  were  pondering  on  something  absently.  .  .  . 

'*What  you  say  is  natural,  my  dear  child  —  it's  natural  you 
should  cling  to  those  who've  brought  you  up,"  she  said  mildly; 
'*but  there's  a  duty  you  owe  to  your  lawful  father.  There  is 
perhaps  something  to  be  given  up  on  more  sides  than  one. 
When  your  father  opens  his  home  to  you,  I  think  it's  right  you 
shouldn't  turn  your  back  on  it." 

''I  can't  feel  as  I've  got  any  father  but  one,"  said  Eppie,  impetu- 
ously, while  the  tears  gathered.  ''I've  always  thought  of  a  little 
home  where  he  'd  sit  i'  the  corner,  and  I  should  fend  and  do  every- 
thing for  him:  I  can't  think  o'  no  other  home.  I  wasn't  brought 
up  to  be  a  lady,  and  I  can't  turn  my  mind  to  it.  I  like  the  working- 
folks,  and  their  victuals,  and  their  ways.  And,"  she  ended  passion- 
ately, while  the  tears  fell,  ''I'm  promised  to  marry  a  workingman, 
as  '11  live  with  father,  and  help  me  to  take  care  of  him." 

Godfrey  looked  up  at  Nancy  with  a  flushed  face  and  smarting 
dilated  eyes.  .  .  .  "Let  us  go,"  he  said  in  an  imdertone. 

.    — George  Eliot,  Silas  Marner,  Chapter  xix. 

So  also  we  are  made  to  feel  the  strong  emolion  of  a  war- 
time scene  in  more  familiar  surroundings.  We  are  before 
the  country  post-office  in  a  crowd  filled  with  the  rumor  of  a 
great  battle. 

"Run  in  for  me  —  that's  a  good  boy  —  ask  for  Dr.  Stratford's 
mail,"  the  teacher  whispered,  bending  over  me. 

It  seemed  an  age  before  I  finally  got  back  to  her,  with  the  paper 
in  its  postmarked  wrapper  buttoned  up  inside  my  jacket.  I  had 
never  been  in  so  fierce  and  determined  a  crowd  before,  arid  I 
emerged  from  it  at  last,  confused  in  wits  and  panting  for  breath. 
I  was  still  looking  about  through  the  gloom  in  a  foolish  way  for 
Miss  Stratford,  when  I  felt  her  hand  laid  shj^rply  on  my  shoulder. 

"Well — where  is  it? — did  nothing  come?"  she  asked,  her  voice 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  257 

trembling  with  eagerness  and  the  eyes  which  I  had  thought  so 
soft  and  dove-like  flashing  down  upon  me  as  if  she  were  Miss 
Pritchard,  and  I  had  been  caught  chewing  gum  in  school. 

I  drew  the  paper  out  from  under  my  roundabout,  and  gave  it 
to  her.  She  grasped  it,  and  thrust  a  finger  under  the  cover  to 
tear  it  off.  Then  she  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  looked  about 
her.  ''Come  where  there  is  some  light,"  she  said,  and  started  up 
the  street.  Although  she  seemed  to  have  spoken  more  to  herself 
than  to  me,  I  followed  her  in  silence,  close  to  her  side. 

For  a  long  way  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  every  lighted  store- 
window  was  thronged  with  a  group  of  people  clustered  tight  about 
some  one  who  had  a  paper,  and  was  reading  from  it  aloud.  Beside 
broken  snatches  of  this  monologue,  we  caught,  now  groans  of  sor- 
row and  horror,  now  exclamations  of  proud  approval,  and  even 
the  beginnings  of  cheers,  broken  in  upon  by  a  general  ''Sh-hl" 
as  we  hurried  past  outside  the  curb. 

It  was  under  a  lamp  in  a  little  park  nearly  half-way  up  the  hill, 
that  Miss  Stratford  stopped,  and  spread  the  paper  open.  I  see 
her  still,  white-faced,  under  the  flickering  gas-light,  her  black 
curls  making  a  strange  dark  bar  between  the  pale-straw  hat  and 
the  white  of  her  shoulder  shawl  and  muslin  dress,  her  hands 
trembling  as  they  held  up  the  extended  sheet.  She  scanned  the 
columns  swiftly,  skimmingly  for  a  time,  as  I  could  see  by  the  way 
she  moved  her  round  chin  up  and  down.  Then  she  came  to  a 
part  which  called  for  closer  reading.  The  paper  shook  percep- 
tibly now,  as  she  bent  her  eyes  upon  it.  Then  all  at  once  it  fell 
from  her  hands,  and  without  a  sound  she  walked  away. 
—  Harold  Frederic,  The  Eve  of  the  Fourth^  from  In  the  Sixties. 

By  abundance  of  concrete  detail  Dickens  makes  us  gradu- 
ally familiar  with  Uriah  Heep. 

''You  are  working  late  to-night,  Uriah,"  says  I. 

"Yes,  Master  Copper  field,"  says  Uriah. 

As  I  was  getting  on  the  stool  opposite  to  talk  to  him  more  con- 
veniently, I  observed  that  he  had  not  such  a  thing  as  a  smile  about 
him,  and  that  he  could  only  widen  his  mouth  and  make  two  hard 
creases  down  his  cheeks,  one  on  each  side,  to  stand  for  one. 
18 


258  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

'*I  am  not  doing  office-work,  Master  Copperfield/'  said  Uriah. 

''What  work,  then?"  I  asked. 

'*I  am  improving  my  legal  knowledge.  Master  Copperfield," 
said  Uriah.  ''I  am  going  through  Tidd's  Practice.  Oh,  what  a 
writer  Mr.  Tidd  is.  Master  Copperfield!" 

My  stool  was  such  a  tower  of  observation  that,  as  I  watched  him 
reading  on  again  after  this  rapturous  exclamation  and  following 
up  the  lines  with  his  forefinger,  I  observed  that  his  nostrils,  which 
were  thin  and  pointed,  with  sharp  dints  in  them,  had  a  singular 
and  most  uncomfortable  way  of  expanding  and  contracting  them- 
selves —  that  they  seemed  to  twinkle  instead  of  his  eyes,  which 
hardly  twinkled  at  all. 

'*I  suppose  you  are  quite  a  great  lawyer?"  I  said,  after  looking 
at  him  for  some  time. 

''Me,  Master  Copperfield?"  said  Uriah.  "Oh,  no!  I'm  a  very 
umble  person." 

It  was  no  fancy  of  mine  about  his  hands,  I  observed;  for  he 
frequently  ground  the  palms  against  each  other  as  if  to  squeeze 
them  dry  and  warm,  besides  often  wiping  them,  in  a  stealthy 
way,  on  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

"I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  the  umblest  person  going,"  said 
Uriah  Heep  modestly;  "let  the  other  be  where  he  may.  My 
mother  is  likewise  a  very  umble  person.  We  live  in  an  umble 
abode.  Master  Copperfield,  but  have  much  to  be  thankful  for. 
My  father's  former  calling  was  umble.    He  was  a  sexton." 

—  Dickens,  David  Copperfield,  Chapter  xvi. 

These  instances  show  the  suggestiveness  of  concrete  de- 
tails, not  only  of  action,  but  also  of  speech.  Of  all  details, 
the  most  suggestive  of  feeling  or  character  is  the  way  of 
talking.  What  does  the  dialogue  in  the  tenth  chapter  of 
Don  Quixote  reveal  of  the  character  of  the  knight  and  of  his 
squire?  Read  aloud  as  expressively  as  possible  from  some 
story  of  your  own  choosing  a  short  passage  in  which  the 
actions,  gesture,  and  speech  are  strongly  suggestive  of  emo- 
tion and  character.  s 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  259 

(a)  Write  a  dialogue  between  a  shrewd  farmer's  wife  and  a  no 
less  shrewd  ragman  over  an  exchange  of  rags  for  tinware.  De- 
cide first  how  you  will  end  the  story.  Put  in  look  and  gesture  as 
you  go  along. 

(6)  Write  a  dialogue  between  an  unreasonably  angry  passenger 
who  finds  himself  on  the  wrong  train  and  the  polite  but  firm  con- 
ductor who  will  not  stop  the  express  at  the  passenger's  way  sta- 
tion. Decide  first  how  you  will  end.  Put  in  abundance  of  look 
and  gesture. 

(c)  Describe  an  auction  mainly  by  the  words  of  the  auctioneer. 

(d)  Write  a  dialogue  between  an  Irish  poUceman  and  an  Italian 
fruit-vender. 

(e)  A  high-school  girl,  on  an  errand  to  the  superintendent,  crossed 
a  factory  yard  in  which  a  hundred  men  were  eating  luncheon. 
As  she  hesitated,  embarrassed,  and  uncertain  of  her  direction,  the 
yoimgest  workman  sprang  to  his  feet,  civilly  offered  his  services, 
and  conducted  her  to  the  right  door.  Returning  through  the 
groups  of  his  companions,  he  was  jeered  at  until  an  old  workman 
said  something  which  imposed  silence.  What  did  he  say?  What 
did  the  others  say?  What  did  each  of  the  principal  persons  say 
and  do?  How  did  they  stand,  sit,  look,  etc?  Tell  the  whole 
incident  in  this  way. 

(/)  A  tramp,  half-starved  and  half -frozen,  with  a  bad  cold  in 
his  lungs,  came  one  morning  to  a  New  England  farmhouse.  Only 
the  farmer's  wife  was  at  home;  and  the  dog  was  harmless.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  obviously  had  a  drink  lately,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing  her  of  his  real  need,  so  that  she  took  him 
in  to  the  fire  and  fed  him.    What  did  the  tramp  say? 

(g)  A  college  man  and  a  boarding-school  girl  went  canoeing 
in  August  on  a  salt-water  inlet.  Losing  track  of  the  time,  they 
were  left  by  the  ebbing  tide  aground  in  the  salt  marsh,  surrounded 
by  acres  of  bottomless  mud  crawling  with  small  sea-beasts.  A 
violent  thunder-shower  approached.  What  did  they  say  and 
do  during  the  first  few  minutes  after  discovering  their  plight? 

(h)  An  upper-classman  was  summoned  to  the  Dean's  office  on 
account  of  a  disturbance  in  his  room.  Write  the  ensuing  scene  so 
as  to  bring  out  the  character  of  each  in  the  dialogue. 


260  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

(i)  A  workingman  and  his  wife,  industrious  and  self-respecting 
folk,  with  a  babe  in  arms  and  four  other  children,  of  whom  the 
eldest  was  six  years  old,  found  utter  poverty  staring  them  in 
the  face.  Having  already  pawned  all  their  available  possessions, 
the  parents,  dividing  the  last  loaf  among  the  children,  set  out  early 
in  the  morning,  the  man  once  more  to  seek  work,  and  the  woman 
to  borrow  money.  When  they  returned  successful  in  the  evening, 
the  man  with  a  dollar  and  a  half  earned  by  carrying  trunks  in 
spite  of  his  lameness,  and  the  woman  with  a  dollar  borrowed  as 
advance  pay  for  washing,  they  found  that  a  charity  society  had 
removed  all  their  children,  the  three  elder  to  the  Home  for  the 
Friendless,  the  two  younger  to  the  Foundling  Hospital.  Narrate 
the  home-coming  of  the  parents,  so  far  as  possible  in  dialogue,  so 
as  to  bring  out  their  feelings  and  character.  Use  attitude,  action, 
and  gesture  as  well  as  speech. 

(/)  An  old  soldier  lay  sick  and  feeble  in  bed  on  Memorial  Day 
while  a  parade  of  his  fellow  veterans  passed  in  the  street  below, 
escorted  by  the  local  militia.  His  grandson,  a  schoolboy,  sitting  by 
the  window,  reported  what  he  saw.  Each  asked  questions  of  the 
other.  Unexpectedly  there  was  a  halt  just  when  the  grandfather's 
own  company  were  beneath  the  window.  The  band  played  the 
Star-Spangled  Banner.  The  old  man  ....  Tell  this  incident 
with  dialogue  and  significant  gesture. 

{k)  Write  a  conversation  among  football  players  between 
halves,  realizing  individuals  distinctly  in  speech,  attitude,  and 
gesture.  Let  the  captain  be  the  chief  speaker,  and  let  at  least 
two  others  reply.  Put  in  what  certain  others,  who  do  not  speak, 
are  doing  meantime.     The  score  is  6-0  against  the  team. 

(l)  In  the  single  passenger  coach  at  the  end  of  a  "mixed" 
train  the  conductor,  the  brakeman,  a  flashy  commercial  traveler, 
and  a  cattle-man  returning  from  a  spree  were  exchanging  doubt- 
ful stories.  The  train  stopping  at  a  lonely  prairie  station,  a  woman 
got  on  with  her  twelve-year-old  daughter.  Begin  with  the  con- 
versation just  before  the  train  stopped.  The  cattle-man  has  just 
finished  a  story.  Without  telling  the  story,  show  its  character 
and  effect  by  the  way  in  which  it  is  received^-  Express  in  action, 
attitude,  etc.,  the  sharp  change  produced  by  the  entrance  of  the 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  261 

two  passengers.  End  with  the  starting  of  the  train.  Use  through- 
out, not  only  characteristic  talk,  etc.,  but  abundance  of  other 
concrete  detail  (e.g.,  the  noise  and  motion  of  the  train,  the  cattle- 
man's whiskey  bottle,  the  commercial  traveler's  clothes).  Let 
the  point  of  the  incident  be  that  these  men,  in  spite  of  their  care- 
lessness and  crassness,  had  at  least  the  goodness  to  be  ashamed 
and  courteously  considerate.  Tell  the  whole  as  a  succession  of 
actions,  using  significant  verbs  in  the  past  tense. 
These  themes  should  be  read  aloud  in  class  and  discussed. 


3.   STORY-TELLING  AS  STORY-PLANNING 

Plan  not  by  Paragraphs.  —  The  first  means  of  interest  in 
story-telling  is  the  appeal  to  imagination  and  feeling  by 
the  concrete.  But  this  is  simply  the  means  of  all  effective 
description,  —  indeed,  we  might  almost  say  of  all  interest. 
Concreteness  is  especially  important  in  story-telling,  because 
here  interest  is  absolutely  necessary;  but  it  is  not  all.  There 
remain  questions  of  composition,  of  story-telling  considered 
as  story-planning.  How  shall  a  story  be  put  together?  To 
these  questions  no  application  thus  far  made  of  general 
principles  gives  sufiicient  answer.  The  plan  of  a  story  is 
not  like  the  plan  of  a  speech  or  an  essay.  A  story  does  not 
proceed  by  paragraphs.  True,  it  has  indented  spaces;  but 
these,  instead  of  indicating  stages  of  thought  as  in  an  essay 
or  speech,  merely  mark  a  change  of  speaker  in  dialogue,  or 
somebody's  arrival  on  the  scene,  or  perhaps  a  pause  in  the 
action,  —  in  short,  something  quite  external.  No,  though 
a  story  has  convenient  spaces,  it  hardly  has  paragraphs. 
Instead  of  proceeding  from  thought  to  thought,  it  proceeds 
from  incident  to  incident,  from  action  to  action.^    Story- 

^The  paragraphs  at  the  opening  of  Irving's  Rip  van  Winkle f 
Hawthorne's  Scarlet  Letter,  and  some  other  stories  of  like  method,  are 
really  introductory  essays.     The  story  proper  has  not  yet  begun. 


262  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

telling  tries  less  to  make  us  think  than  to  make  us  feel.    So 
a  plan  of  thought  will  not  answer. 

Plan  not  Strict  in  Older  Long  Stories.  —  Why  plan  at  all? 
Why  not  simply  tell  the  events  in  chronological  order  as 
they  happened,  beginning  at  the  beginning  and  going  on  to 
the  end?  This  is  possible.  Sometimes  it  is  even  successful. 
If  the  events  of  the  story  are  novel,  or  important  as  facts, 
and  if  they  are  told  with  abundance  of  definite  concrete 
detail,  a  story  will  go  of  itself  without  plan.  Such  a  story 
is  Robinson  Crusoe,  It  is  interesting  almost  entirely  from 
the  vivid  description  of  each  separate  incident,  and  very 
little  from  any  excitement  we  feel  as  to  the  outcome.  We 
are  interested,  not  so  much  in  going  on,  in  finding  how  the 
whole  will  come  out,  as  in  each  incident  separately.  Doubt- 
less Defoe  told  it  thus  without  plan,  in  order  to  imitate  the 
style  of  a  diary;  for  he  pretended  that  it  was  the  record  of 
a  shipwrecked  sailor,  just  as  it  was  written  by  himself.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  interesting  without  plan,  merely  from  the 
abundant  concreteness  of  its  incidents.  It  is  a  thousand 
vivid  descriptions  connected  only  by  happening  in  succes- 
sion to  the  same  person.  The  same  kind  of  interest  attaches 
to  certain  stories  of  actual  fact,  such  as  Dana's  Two  Years 
Before  the  MasL  This  method  in  the  twenty-fourth  chapter 
of  Genesis  involves  frequent  repetitions.  The  story  of 
Isaac  and  Rebekah  is  told,  not  to  hold  our  interest  in  a 
succession  of  events,  but  to  instruct  us  in  their  meaning. 
Stories  without  plan,  then,  may  be  interesting  for  their 
description  or  valuable  for  their  instruction.  They  are 
interesting  in  parts,  not  as  united  wholes. 

Compare  two  long  stories  familiar  to  you  so  as  to  bring  out  a 
contrast  between  them  in  structure,  or  story  plan.  Choose  for 
this  purpose  (1)  a  story  merely  accumulating^  incident,  like  Rob- 
inson  Crusoe^  and  (2)  a  story  in  which  the  incidents  are  so  arranged 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  263 

as  to  excite  interest  in  the  outcome,  like  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
Write  out  afterwards  as  a  short  theme. 

4.  UNITY  IN  STORY-TELLING:  FIXING  INTEREST 

Unity  as  Omission.  —  But  this  kind  of  story,  simply 
adding  description  to  description  in  chronological  order,  is 
for  most  of  us  at  most  times  practically  impossible.  For 
ordinary  use  it  is  altogether  too  long.  Short  stories  are  the 
only  ones  our  friends  permit  us  to  tell.  Even  the  student 
who  wishes  to  become  a  novelist  must  learn  more  about 
narrative  composition  than  was  necessary  in  the  time  of 
Defoe;  and  only  one  in  a  thousand  has  any  story-telling  to 
do  that  is  not  short.  Our  problem,  then,  is  how  to  plan  a 
short  story.  Of  all  short  stories  in  English,  none  have  been 
more  widely  popular  than  the  ballads.^  It  is  worth  while, 
therefore,  to  seek  the  reason  for  this  popularity  in  their 
way  of  telling,  or  narrative  method. 

SIR  PATRICK  SPENCE 

1 

The  king  sits  in  Dumferling  town, 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine. 
'*0  where  will  I  get  a  good  sailor 

To  sail  this  ship  of  mine?" 

2 

Up  and  spake  an  elder  knight, 

Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee: 
'*Sir  Patrick  Spence  is  the  best  sailor 

That  sails  upon  the  sea." 

*The  most  convenient  complete  edition  of  the  ballads  is  English 
and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads,  edited  from  the  collection  of  Francis  James 
Child  by  Helen  Child  Sargent  and  George  Lym^n  Kittredge,  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.  Of  the  many  volumes  of  selections  the  best  is  the  one 
edited  by  Professor  Gummere  for  Ginn  and  Co. 


264  Narrative  plan 

3 

The  king  has  written  a  broad  letter, 

And  sealed  it  with  his  hand, 
And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spence, 

Was  walking  on  the  sand. 

4 
The  first  line  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

A  loud  laugh  laughed  he; 
The  next  line  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

The  tear  blinded  his  ee  (eye). 

5 

"O  who  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

This  ill  deed  done  to  me, 
To  send  me  out  this  time  o'  the  year 

To  sail  upon  the  sea! 

6 

''Make  haste,  make  haste,  my  merry  men  all; 

Our  good  ship  sails  the  morn." 
'*0  say  not  so,  my  master  dear; 

For  I  fear  a  deadly  storm. 


"Late,  late  yestreen  I  saw  the  new  moon 
With  the  old  moon  in  her  arm ; 

And  I  fear,  I  fear,  my  master  dear. 
That  we  will  come  to  harm." 

8 

Loth,  loth,  were  our  Scottish  lords 

To  wet  their  cork-heeled  shoon  (shoes) ; 

But  long  ere  all  the  play  was  played^ » 
Their  hats  they  swam  aboon  (above)^ 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  265 

9 
O  long,  long  may  their  ladies  sit, 

With  their  fans  into  their  hand, 
Ere  ever  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spence 

Come  sailing  to  the  land. 

10 
O  long,  long  may  the  ladies  stand, 

With  their  gold  combs  in  their  hair, 
Waiting  for  their  own  dear  lords; 

For  them  they  11  see  no  mair  (more). 

11 
Half  over,  half  over  to  Aberdour, 

It's  fifty  fathom  deep; 
And  there  lies  good  Sir  Patrick  Spence 

With  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 

Omission  vs.  Summary.  —  Here  is  an  interesting  story 
short  enough  to  be  read  in  a  few  minutes.  The  events 
narrated  must  have  covered  several  days,  perhaps  weeks. 
Told  in  the  manner  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  they  would  cover 
many  pages  of  prose.  Yet  we  would  not  have  them  thus 
spun  out.  We  like  this  brief  way.  How  is  the  story  made 
brief?  First,  mark  that  it  is  not  made  brief  by  summary. 
A  summary  would  be  something  like  this: 

A  king  of  Scotland,  wishing  to  send  a  new  ship  to  Norway, 
inquired  for  a  skilful  captain.  Sir  Patrick  Spence  being  praised 
as  the  best  sailor  afloat,  the  king  gave  the  commission  to  him. 
Though  appreciating  the  honor.  Sir  Patrick  knew  so  well  the  dan- 
gers of  navigation  at  that  season  that  he  suspected  treacherous 
influence  on  the  king.  Nevertheless  summoning  his  men  promptly, 
he  set  sail  in  spite  of  their  forebodings.  The  embassy  of  Scotch 
lords  whom  bp  carried  was  ill  prej)ared  for  hardship;  and  all, 


266  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

passengers  and  navigators  alike,  were  drowned  half-way  over  to 
Aberdour.* 

No,  that  is  not  a  story  at  all,  but  merely  something  out  of 
which  a  story  might  be  made.  And  if  the  summary  were  as 
long  as  the  ballad,  it  would  still  lack  the  ballad  interest. 
For  the  ballad  does  not  summarize;  it  speaks  concretely. 
We  hear  the  actual  words  of  the  king,  the  captain,  the  old 
sailor.  The  wine  is  blood-red,  the  letter  is  broad,  the  Scotch 
nobles  wear  cork-heeled  shoes,  the  ladies  have  gold  combs 
in  their  hair,  the  ominous  look  of  the  moon  is  suggested  in 
a  striking  figure.  Everything  is  concrete.  There  is  all  the 
difference  in  the  world  between  this  and  such  a  chronological 
summary  of  a  man's  life  as  we  find  in  a  cyclopedia.  That  is 
all  very  useful;  but  this  is  interesting.  How,  then,  does  the 
ballad-maker  put  all  this  into  so  little  space  ?  In  a  word,  by 
selection.  Instead  of  giving  all  the  details  in  full,  instead  on 
the  other  hand  of  compressing  all  the  details  into  a  summary, 
he  picks  out  certain  details.  The  rest  he  simply  omits.  The 
first  lesson  in  telling  a  short  story  is  to  select  and  to  omit. 
What  has  the  ballad-maker  omitted?  First,  how  the 
king  happened  to  be  sitting  in  Dumferling,  how  he  happened 
to  have  a  new  ship,  why  he  wished  to  send  it  out;  then  who 
Sir  Patrick  was,  how  he  happened  to  have  men  at  hand, 
what  the  grudge  was  against  him,  who  brought  him  the 
letter,  where  he  found  his  men,  who  the  man  was  that  spoke 
of  the  weather,  and,  most  striking  omission  of  all,  what 
happened  between  stanzas  7  and  8.  Some  of  these  details 
might  be  interesting;  most  of  them  would  be  uninteresting; 
none  of  them  is  necessary.     He  has  omitted,  then,  first, 

V  all  that  is  uninteresting;  secondly,  all  that  he  could  safely 

/    leave  to  our  imagination. 

*  Other  ballads  may  be  summarized  for  assignments  to  be  worked 
up  into  stories.    These  stories  may  then  be  compared  with  the  ballads. 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  267 

Omission  as  Limiting  the  Time  and  Place,  —  In  particular, 
he  has  limited  the  time  and  the  place.  Instead  of  beginning 
with  Sir  Patrick's  boyhood  and  going  on  through  his  training 
at  sea  and  his  incurring  the  displeasure  of  the  "  elder  knight/' 
the  story-teller  has  begun  after  all  these  things.  Some  of 
them  he  has  taken  for  granted;  some  of  them  he  has  implied, 
as  by  Sir  Patrick's  words  in  the  fifth  stanza.  He  has  made 
no  attempt  at  completeness.  He  has  none  of  the  cyclo- 
pedia method.  As  to  place,  the  story  begins  in  the  king's 
hall,  goes  down  to  Sir  Patrick  on  the  beach,  goes  aboard 
with  him,  and  stays  there.  It  is  all  either  going  aboard 
or  being  aboard  for  a  single  brief  voyage.  The  lesson  of 
omission,  then,  in  the  telling  of  short  stories  means  in  par- 
ticular to  leave  out  as  much  as  possible  of  the  previous 
history,  and  to  make  little  change  of  scene.  Since  the 
object  is  to  make  the  reader  imagine  himself  in  the  story, 
do  not  ask  him  to  imagine  himself  in  rapid  succession  living 
through  many  scenes  in  many  places.  Instead,  focus  atten- 
tion on  some  striking  brief  period,  a  period  so  full  of  sig- 
nificant actions  that  by  living  through  it  in  imagination 
the  reader  understands  all  he  needs  to  understand  of  what 
went  on  elsewhere  before  and  after.  For  the  attempt  to 
make  a  story  clearer  by  introducing  it  with  previous  history 
leads  to  summary  and  so  to  dulness.  Just  as  description 
is  unified  by  focusing  attention  on  a  characteristic  moment, 
so  story-telling  is  unified  by  focusing  on  some  brief  period 
full  of  significant  action  within  a  limited  area. 

This  is  the  way  to  hold  attention  and  make  a  single  im- 
pression. People  who  wish  to  begin  at  the  beginning  forget 
that  there  is  no  beginning.  Our  Uves  are  so  commingled 
and  crossed,  events  are  derived  from  causes  so  remote,  that 
if  we  are  too  anxious  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  our  hearers 
will  flee  before  we  have  fairly  started. 


268  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

A  young  subordinate,  left  in  temporary  charge  of  a  construc- 
tion gang  on  a  bridge,  received  word  of  a  flood  coming  from  a 
broken  dam  far  up  the  valley.  By  his  prompt  and  energetic 
action  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  he  saved  his  company's  property 
and  the  town  below.  This  should  make  an  interesting  story. 
Must  the  teller  explain  why  a  bridge  came  to  be  built  at  that 
point?  The  railroad,  having  prospered,  had  decided  to  lay  double 
tracks  throughout  its  system.  This  necessitated  a  wider  bridge. 
Not  only  so;  but  to  cut  off  a  curve,  the  company  had  decided  to 
build  an  entirely  new  bridge  higher  up.  But  what  of  the  dam? 
Was  the  break  due  to  carelessness,  or  to  some  imavoidable  pres- 
sure? A  history  of  the  dam  might  make  this  clear.  And  the  hero 
—  how  came  he  there?  Was  his  resourcefulness  inherited  from 
his  father?  Let  us  know  the  family  history.  But  this  method  is 
absurd.  There  will  be  neither  beginning  nor  end.  The  story  will 
be  lost  in  a  maze  of  other  stories.    The  teller  will  be  a  bore. 

No,  the  very  object  of  telling  a  story  is  to  pick  out  of  the 
throng  of  happenings  something  which  you  think  worthy 
to  stand  by  itself.  In  order  to  make  it  stand  by  itself, 
interesting,  significant,  giving  to  others  the  emotion  that 
it  gave  to  you,  you  must  omit  all  that  is  distracting,  and 
especially  limit  the  time  and  place.  Life  goes  on  and  on 
without  pause.  In  history,  in  the  daily  newspapers,  in  our 
own  experiences,  it  unrolls  to  us  thousands  of  stories  all 
tangled  together.  The  story-teller's  art  is  to  pick  out  one 
story  at  a  time  and  make  it  stand  out  by  itself. 

The  following  Bible  stories  intensify  interest  by  limiting  the 
time  and  place.  Though  each  is  part  of  a  longer  history,  each 
stands  out  by  itself.  Each  is  complete,  needing  nothing  more 
for  its  interest  and  significance. 

Judges  vii.  1-22.    The  Sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon. 

2  Samuel  xviii.    Absalom,  My  Son. 

Daniel  v.    The  Writing  on  the  Wall. 

Daniel  vi.    The  Lion's  Den.  ^ 

Compare  these  with  the  simple,  implanned  chronological  tale 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  269 

of  Isaac  and  Rebekah  in  Genesis  xxiv.  All  alike  are  told  for 
instruction;  but  the  others  take  stronger  hold  of  our  interest  by- 
limiting  the  time. 

Select  a  short  story  of  Hawthornes's,  such  as  The  Ambitious 
Guest  or  David  Swan,  which  limits  the  time,  and  compare  it  as  to 
intensity  of  interest  with  one  of  his  stories  which  does  not  so  limit 
the  time. 

Find  a  current  magazine  story  which  limits  the  time  of  action 
to  a  single  day^ 

Unity  as  Selection.  —  Omission,  of  course,  is  the  converse 
of  selection.  A  story-teller  omits  superfluous  events  by 
selecting  that  period  which  is  most  eloquently  suggestive, 
most  characteristic,  fullest  of  the  interest  for  which  the 
story  is  told.  And  even  within  that  little  period  he  has  to 
select  and  reject  details.  What  has  the  teller  of  Sir  Patrick 
Spence  selected?    Six  incidents: 

(1)  the  king^s  demand  over  his  wine,  the  recommenda- 
tion of  Sir  Patrick,  and  the  instant  commission; 

(2)  Sir  Patrick's  reception  of  the  commission  and  his 
distrust; 

(3)  his  summons  to  his  men  and  their  foreboding; 

(4)  how  the  king's  emissaries  took  the  storm; 

(5)  how  the  ladies  waited  in  vain; 

(6)  the  disaster,  Sir  Patrick  and  his  men  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea. 

Evidently  he  selected  what  was  most  interesting  and 
most  picturesque.  But  scrutiny  will  reveal  more.  Why  is 
the  opening  dialogue  interesting?  Because  it  makes  us 
wish  to  hear  more,  because  it  is  significant.  Why  is  the 
sailor's  forecast  of  the  weather  interesting?  Again  because 
we  wish  to  know  whether  the  event  tallied  with  his  fear;  again 
because  it  is  significant.  Significant  of  what?  Significant 
of  what  is  to  happen  at  last,  significant  of  the  outcome  of 
the  whole  story,  of  the  point.     The  story  is  a  little  tragedy. 


270  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

Che  story-teller  has  chosen  those  incidents  which  most 
_aggest  its  tragic  significance.  Since  each  incident  thus 
tends  in  the  same  direction,  strengthens  the  same  signifi- 
cance, leads  to  the  same  point,  he  is  able  to  make  a  few  do 
the  work  of  many.  He  has  made  his  story  short  by  select- 
ing those  incidents  which  are  most  strikingly  suggestive  of 
a  single  impression.  How  do  you  wish  the  reader  to  feel 
at  the  close  of  your  story?  Select  all  your  incidents  with  a 
view  to  that  final  impression. 

The  paragraph  below  is  a  summary  of  the  character  and  habits 
of  Rip  Van  Winkle  at  the  time  of  his  memorable  journey  up 
the  mountain.  Irving  did  not  bring  this  into  his  story  in  detail, 
because  it  is  merely  preliminary  to  his  particular  purpose.  Make 
from  this  material  a  separate  story  of  your  own  as  follows:  — 

(1)  Aim  by  concrete  details  of  action,  speech,  etc.,  without 
explanation,  to  give  the  impression  summed  up  in  the  first  sen- 
tence; i.e.,  make  us  feel  by  what  Rip  says  and  does  in  your  story, 
and  by  what  others  say  and  do,  his  ''insuperable  aversion  to  all 
kinds  of  profitable  labor. " 

(2)  Limit  the  time  to  some  one  day  before  the  adventure  of  which 
Irving  tells,  and  make  every  thing  happen  in  or  near  the  village. 

(3)  Let  the  story  end  with  a  characteristic  dialogue  between 
Rip  and  his  wife  about  some  piece  of  farm  work  that  he  has  neg- 
lected ;  e.g.,  mending  a  fence  to  prevent  cattle  from  straying. 

(4)  Let  the  story  begin  with  a  dialogue  between  Rip  and  his 
wife  about  that  farm  work,  which  he  then  apparently  sets  out  to  do. 

(5)  Choose  from  the  hints  given  by  Irving  in  this  and  the  fol- 
lowing paragraphs  two  or  three  scenes  which  will  lead  up  to  this 
close,  and  in  which  you  will  actually  picture  Rip  fishing  or  hunting, 
or  leaving  his  own  work  for  others'. 

(6)  Instead  of  saying  ''he  would  sit,''  "he  would  stand,"  "he 
would  carry,"  etc.,  say  "he  sat,"  etc.;  write  all  in  the  past  tense 
as  a  connected  story. 

(7)  Do  not  try  to  imitate  Irving 's  choice  of  words.  Write  in 
your  own  way,  trying  simply  to  make  the  story  move  along  so 
as  to  hold  interest. 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  271 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable  aver- 
sion to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.  It  could  not  be  from  the  want 
of  assiduity  or  perseverance ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with 
a  rod  as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all  day  with- 
out a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not  be  encouraged  by  a 
single  nibble.  He  would  carry  a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder,  for 
hours  together,  trudging  through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild  pigeons.  He  would 
never  even  refuse  to  assist  a  neighbor  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a 
foremost  man  at  all  country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn  or  build- 
ing stone  fences.  The  women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ  him 
to  run  their  errands  and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less 
obliging  husbands  would  not  do  for  them.  In  a  word,  Rip  was 
ready  to  attend  to  anybody's  business  but  his  own;  but  as  to 
doing  family  duty  and  keeping  his  farm  in  order,  it  was  impossible. 

—  Irving,  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

What  time,  place,  and  incidents  would  you  select  for  a  short 
story  of  Sheridan's  Ride?  Write  the  first  hundred  words  of  this 
story;  the  last  hundred. 

Select  incidents  in  the  same  way,  according  to  the  suggestions 
of  this  chapter,  for  a  story  of  one  of  the  following,  or  for  a  story 
of  some  other  event  of  your  own  choosing.  Give  your  story  an 
attractive  title.  After  criticism  of  an  outline  of  the  successive 
incidents,  write  it  out  in  full. 

The  Capture  of  Andre.  Manila  Bay. 

Fire!  The  Siege  of  the  Legations  in 

A  Hard-Won  Victory.  China  (1900). 

Molly  Pitcher.  The  Old  Whaler. 

Nathan  Hale.  Perry  on  Lake  Erie. 
The    Lost    Cause    of    France     The    Constitution    and    Guer- 

(Montcalm).  ri^re. 

Unity  of  Thought^  as  in  Fables^  Exceptional,  —  In  certain 
distinct  cases  the  unity  of  a  story  is  almost  like  the  unity 
of  an  essay  or  speech;  that  is,  a  story  may  be  told  to  illus- 
trate some  maxim  or  other  sentence  summing  up  worldly 


272  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

wisdom.  Such  stories  are  parables  and  fables.  The  fable  of 
the  Fox  and  the  Grapes  has  a  subject  sentence,  just  as  an 
essay  or  speech  might  have:  we  often  pretend  indifference  to 
what  we  cannot  attain.  The  fable  of  the  Lion  and  the  Mouse 
has  for  its  core  the  idea  that  small  kindnesses  may  bring  great 
rewards;  the  fable  of  the  Miller,  His  Son,  and  the  Ass,  that 
it  is  folly  to  be  ruled  by  public  opinion;  and  so  on.  A  fable 
is  a  short  story  told  to  illustrate  a  maxim  of  worldly  wisdom. 
Since  it  is  really  a  kind  of  explanation  by  illustration,  it  has 
the  same  kind  of  unity,  the  unity  of  an  underlying  proposition. 
This  kind  of  unity  is  seen  again  in  those  illustrative  stories 
which  we  call  anecdotes.  Anecdote,  indeed,  differs  from 
fable  only  in  being  a  story  of  fact  and  often  drawn  from 
one's  own  observation.  Both  aUke  aim  to  explain  or  prove 
something;  and  this  core  idea  is  usually  stated  in  a  sentence 
at  the  beginning  or  end,  like  the  subject  of  a  paragraph. 

The  following  anecdote  begins  with  a  subject  sentence,  just  as 
a  paragraph  might  begin.  In  fact,  it  is  very  like  a  paragraph  of 
illustration.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  introductory  sentences 
were  omitted,  we  should  have  a  fairly  complete  little  story. 

Shelley's  thirst  for  knowledge  was  unquenchable.  He  set  to 
work  on  a  book,  or  a  pyramid  of  books,  his  eyes  glistening  with 
an  energy  as  fierce  as  that  of  the  most  sordid  gold-digger  who 
works  at  a  rock  of  quartz,  crushing  his  way  through  all  impediments, 
no  grain  of  the  pure  ore  escaping  his  eager  scrutiny.  I  called  on 
him  one  morning  at  ten.  He  was  in  his  study  with  a  German  folio 
open,  resting  on  the  broad  marble  mantelpiece,  over  an  old-fash- 
ioned fire-place,  and  with  a  dictionary  in  his  hand.  He  always 
read  standing  if  possible.  He  had  promised  over  night  to  go  with 
me,  but  now  begged  me  to  let  him  off.  I  then  rode  to  Leghorn, 
eleven  or  twelve  miles  distant,  and  passed  the  day  there.  On 
returning  at  six  in  the  evening  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Shelley  and  the 
Williamses,  as  I  had  engaged  to  do,  I  went  into  the  poet's  room 
and  found  him  exactly  in  the  position  in  which  I  had  left  him  in 
the  morning,  but  looking  pale  and  exhausted. 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  273 

''Well,"  I  said,  ''have  you  found  it?" 

Shutting  the  book  and  going  to  the  window,  he  replied,  "No, 
I  have  lost  it "  (with  a  deep  sigh) ;  '*I  have  lost  a  day." 

"Cheer  up,  my  lad,  and  come  to  dinner." 

Putting  his  long  fingers  through  his  masses  of  wild,  tangled  hair, 
he  anwered  faintly,  "You  go.  I  have  dined.  Late  eating  don't 
do  for  me." 

"What  is  this?"  I  asked,  as  I  was  going  out  of  the  room,  point- 
ing to  one  of  his  bookshelves  with  a  plate  containing  bread  and 
cold  meat  on  it. 

"That?"  (coloring)  "Why,  that  must  be  my  dinner.  It's  very 
foolish.    I  thought  I  had  eaten  it." 

—  E.  J.  Trelawney,  Records  of  Shelley,  Byron, 

and  the  Author.    Chapter  vii. 

Unity  of  Feeling  the  True  Narrative  Unity,  —  But  in  this 
respect  fables  and  anecdotes  differ  from  most  stories.  Our 
object  in  telling  stories  is  not  usually  to  instruct  directly, 
but  to  suggest  by  appeal  to  feeling.  Instead  of  summing 
life  up,  as  fables  and  anecdotes  do,  it  is  usually  our  object 
in  story-telling  to  interpret  life  through  the  imagination, 
to  make  people  feel  it  more  by  seeing  and  hearing  more 
keenly.  You  tell  a  story  of  the  brave  lad  who  saved  his 
schoolmates  from  fire  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  not  because 
you  wish  by  your  telling  to  prove  anything  or  explain  any- 
thing, but  because  you  wish  others  to  feel  the  same  joy 
and  inspiration  that  you  feel  in  that  deed.  The  story  of 
Sir  Patrick  Spence  does  not  explain  or  prove  anything;  yet 
it  is  well  held  together;  it  gives  us  a  definite  feeling.  Its 
unity  is  not  so  much  like  the  unity  of  an  essay  or  speech  as 
like  the  unity  of  a  description.  Therefore,  instead  of  being 
achieved  by  summary,  it  is  achieved  by  selection. 

Poetry  carries  this  method  of  selection  to  the  extreme. 

As  a  few  incidents  are  made  to  do  the  work  of  many,  so  a 

very  few  details  are  made  to  suggest  a  whole  incident.     In 

Sir  Patrick  Spence  the  opening  scene  is  flashed  upon  us  by 

19 


274  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

the  briefest  possible  dialogue  and  the  mere  mention  of 
blood-red  wine  and  the  king's  right  knee.  Sir  Patrick's  feel- 
ing and  temper  are  left  to  a  laugh,  a  tear,  a  sudden  order. 
See  how  eloquent  in  this  way  is  a  single  stanza  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner. 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand, 

** There  was  a  ship,''  quoth  he. 

*  *  Hold  off !    Unhand  me,  grey-beard  loon ! " 

Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

Prose  cannot  well  do  with  so  little;  but  prose  can  follow  the 
same  method  of  selection.  For  prose  story-telling,  like 
poetry,  gains  conciseness,  not  by  summary,  but  by  making 
a  laugh,  a  tear,  a  frown,  stand  for  a  whole  explanation,  by 
making  a  few  significant  details  tell  the  story.  We  tell 
just  the  motions,  attitudes,  colors,  sounds,  that  gave  us  the 
impression;  but  we  tell  only  the  strongest  of  these,  and  we 
leave  out  all  details  that  were  distracting  or  insignificant. 
In  general,  then,  what  we  call  narrative  unity,  as  distinct 
from  logical  unity,  consists,  not  in  working  from  a  single 
idea  or  proposition,  but  in  working  toward  a  single  impres- 
sion. 

Here  are  the  facts  on  which  is  based  Hawthorne's  Ambitious 
Guest,  the  raw  material  of  the  story.  Analyze  Hawthorne's  story 
so  as  to  bring  out  the  single  impression  intended  and  the  selection 
and  omission  of  details  and  incidents  to  this  end. 

In  1826  there  was  in  Crawford's  Notch  a  mountain  tavern 
kept  by  a  Mr.  Willey.  His  family  consisted  of  his  wife,  five  chil- 
dren, of  whom  the  eldest  was  a  girl  of  thirteen,  and  two  hired 
men.  Having  been  warned  some  time  in  June  that  a  landslide 
was  probable,  Mr.  Willey  prepared  a  shelter  in  a  place  of  safety 
at  a  little  distance.  On  the  night  of  August  28th  the  family  were 
awakened  by  the  roar  of  the  slide.  Rushing  out  from  the  house, 
they  were  overtaken  and  buried  under  a  mass  of  earth  and  debris. 
The  house  remained  uninjured;  for  the  slide  divided  against  a  large 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  275 

rock  some  distance  above  it  and  passed  by  on  either  side.  The 
bodies  of  the  parents,  of  the  two  hired  men,  and  of  two  of  the 
children  were  found. 

Unity  as  the  Dominance  of  One  Character.  —  And  unity 
in  story-telling  also  focuses  attention  on  one  main  person. 
To  make  a  single  impression,  a  short  story  should  confine 
itself  to  a  few  persons,  and  center  on  one.  The  story  is 
his  story;  our  interest  is  in  him;  our  sympathy  is  with  him. 
Of  the  Bible  stories  cited  above  (page  268) ,  the  most  poig- 
nant is  the  story  of  David  and  Absalom,  because  all  through 
it  we  feel  with  the  king.  The  whole  story  is  told  with  refer- 
ence to  David.  Whose  story  is  it?  is  one  of  the  first  ques- 
tions in  planning  a  story  for  singleness  of  interest.  Most 
stories  that  leave  a  strong  single  impression  keep  always 
before  us  one  main  character.  In  the  Ancient  Mariner  our 
interest  is  always  on  the  narrator  himself.  In  Sir  Patrick 
Spence  our  sympathy  is  with  Sir  Patrick.  In  the  Chimes 
all  the  incidents  are  held  together  by  their  reference  to  old 
Scrooge.  Though  it  is  too  much  to  say  that  every  short 
story  must  have  one  dominant  character,  yet  any  short 
story  becomes  by  this  means  surer  of  its  impression.  Nar- 
rative unity,  then,  means  negatively  omission,  and  especially 
the  Hmiting  of  time  and  place;  it  means  positively  selection 
of  such  incidents  as  bring  out  the  desired  feehng  and  reveal 
a  single  dominant  character. 

Show  in  two  stories  that  you  like  which  is  the  main  character 
of  each,  and  how  the  whole  story  is  told  with  reference  to  him. 

Suppose  the  story  of  Andr6  told  with  Washington  as  the  main 
figure.  How  would  you  plan  this  story?  Write  the  opening  and 
the  close.  Now  plan  in  the  same  way  another  story  of  the  same 
events  with  the  main  figure  Andre  himself. 

In  the  same  way  plan  a  story  from  the  following  so  as  to  make 
Dugan  the  main  figure,  keeping  the  interest  on  him  from  the  start 
and  all  through. 


276  NARRATIVE  PLAN 


The  fire  started  in  the  cellar,  just  how  nobody  knows.  It  got 
going  with  extreme  rapidity,  and  by  the  time  the  firemen  got 
there  the  house  was  full  of  smoke  and  the  blaze  was  sniffing  up 
the  rickety  staircase.  Most  of  the  tenants  hustled  out  of  the  back 
windows,  scurried  down  the  fire  escapes,  and  dropped  in  safety 
into  the  little  back  yard.  There  was  no  getting  down  staircases 
for  anybody. 

But  George  Dietz  wasn't  so  lucky.  He  is  a  bellboy  who  bell- 
boys at  the  Grand  Union  Hotel  at  night.  He  lives  on  the  top 
floor  of  725  with  his  mother,  and  she  had  gone  out  some  time 
before,  leaving  him  asleep  in  the  flat.  By  the  time  the  uproar 
awakened  him  the  back  hall  was  full  of  smoke  and  fire,  so  that 
he  couldn't  get  to  the  fire  escape.  He  rushed  back  into  the  flat, 
threw  open  a  window,  and  fell  gasping  across  the  sill.  A  burst 
of  smoke,  with  here  and  there  a  tinge  of  flame,  enveloped  him  as 
he  lay  there. 

At  this  apparition  there  came  a  big  roar  from  the  crowd  below 
and  the  firemen  tried  to  raise  an  extension  ladder.  Somehow 
the  cogs  got  jammed  and  the  thing  wouldn't  work. 

It  looked  pretty  bad  for  Dietz,  because  he  was  practically  help- 
less. To  jump  meant  sure  death  and  no  fireman  could  have  lived 
long  enough  on  that  burning  staircase  to  get  up  to  the  fifth  floor. 
Nor  would  he  have  been  any  use  if  he  had  got  there.  Tom  Du- 
gan  saw  the  only  thing  that  could  be  done,  and  singing  out  to 
Sythes  to  follow  him,  he  ran  up  the  stairs  of  the  house  next  to 
the  one  that  was  blazing  so  merrily.  The  burning  house  was  five 
stories  high.  Its  next  door  neighbor  is  only  four,  so  that  the  roof 
of  723  comes  about  to  the  level  of  the  top  windows  of  725. 

Dugan  and  Sythes  hurried  to  the  roof.  Then  Dugan  crawled 
to  the  edge,  keeping  close  to  the  wall  of  the  burning  house,  and 
cautiously  let  himself  over  the  edge.  Sythes  sat  down  and  took 
a  good  grip  on  Dugan's  ankles.  Dugan  was  then  hanging  head 
downward  over  the  sidewalk  and  if  Sythes  had  let  go  it  would 
have  been  all  over  with  him.     Sythes  had  no  such  intention. 

Dugan  clawed  desperately  at  the  window  blind  of  the  burning 
building  until  he  managed  to  drag  his  shoulders  so  far  in  that 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  277 

direction  as  to  get  a  grip  on  Dietz,  who  was  by  this  time  Hmp  and 
helpless  as  he  lay  across  the  sill,  more  dead  than  alive.  Thus  the 
fireman  dragged  the  unconscious  boy  out  of  the  window.  More 
firemen  had  reached  the  roof  by  this  time  to  help  Sythes,  and 
between  them  they  hauled  rescuer  and  rescued  up  to  the  roof. 

The  crowd  had  up  to  this  time  watched  the  thrilling  perform- 
ance in  absolute  silence,  but  now  a  tremendous  cheer  went  up. 
Dugan  suffered  a  compound  fracture  of  the  cutaway  coat  and 
much  adulation.  Dietz  was  taken  to  the  Flower  Hospital,  but  he 
wasn't  badly  burned.  Fireman  Burns  got  one  finger  badly  crushed 
trying  to  make  the  extension  ladder  work.  Fireman  Brennan  was 
cut  by  broken  glass,  and  had  his  wounds  dressed  at  the  hospital. 

Mrs.  Dietz,  George's  mother,  came  home  about  the  time  it 
was  all  over.  When  they  told  her  what  had  happened  she  made 
a  remark  about  the  Deity  and  fainted.  The  Fire  Marshal  made 
an  investigation  after  the  fireman  got  the  blaze  under.  He  said 
it  looked  like  an  incendiary  fire.    The  loss  was  $5000. 

—  New  York  Sun,  April  18,  1908. 


5.  COHERENCE  IN  STORY-TELLING:  HOLDING 
INTEREST 

Coherence  as  Leading  up  to  the  End.  —  Climax  and  Sus- 
pense. —  The  difference  between  the  unity  proper  to  an  essay 
and  the  unity  proper  to  a  story  affects  the  story  plan.  If  a 
short  story  be  told  to  explain  or  prove  something  (page  272 
above),  the  point  may  be  announced  at  the  beginning,  as  in 
a  paragraph.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  story  be  told 
for  itself,  for  its  own  interest,  not  urging  any  message,  but 
rousing  our  sympathy  through  our  imagination,  then  it  is 
planned  by  making  each  incident  and  each  detail  heighten 
our  feeling  until  we  reach  a  climax  at  the  close.  Climax,  in- 
deed (the  Greek  word  for  ladder),  sums  up  in  a  single  figure 
of  speech  a  good  deal  of  the  planning  of  a  story.  The  close 
of  a  story  told  for  interest  is  the  top  rung,  the  height  of 


278  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

interest.  The  object  is  to  lift  the  interest,  as  it  were,  rung 
by  rung,  incident  by  incident,  to  the  highest  interest  at  the 
close.  Thus  it  happens  that  the  close,  the  last  and  strongest 
impression,  is  often  settled,  and  sometimes  even  written, 
first,  because  the  teller  must  plan  everything  to  lead  up  to 
this  scene.  But  that  which  he  himself  has  in  mind  from  the 
beginning  he  usually  holds  from  the  reader  till  the  end. 
Realizing  it  fully  in  his  own  imagination  before  he  tells  his 
story,  he  works  constantly  toward  it  without  divulging  it 
to  his  reader.  In  a  word,  story-telling  for  interest  usually 
keeps  suspense. 

The  Newspaper  Way  and  the  Magazine  Way,  —  Story- 
telling for  information  or  explanation,  on  the  contrary,  has 
quite  the  opposite  plan.  The  difference  is  plain  in  any 
newspaper.  A  newspaper  report  of  such  events  as  are  told 
in  the  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence  would  put  the  point  first 
instead  of  last.  Its  aim  being  to  give  the  information  as 
quickly  as  possible,  it  would  have  a  heading  in  large  type, 
DROWNED;  then  a  summary,  still  in  large  type,  NEW 
ROYAL  SHIP  LOST  WITH  ALL  ON  BOARD;  then  a 
somewhat  longer  summary.  The  Caledonia,  Captain  Sir 
Patrick  Spence,  carrying  the  royal  embassy  to  Norway,  foun- 
dered in  yesterday^ s  storm.  Last  would  come  the  details  in 
chronological  order.  This  is  a  natural  method  of  story- 
telUng  for  news,  that  is  for  information.  The  more  impor- 
tant the  information,  the  more  important  to  give  the  gist 
of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  The  reader  may  be  content  with 
this  or  with  the  short  narrative  immediately  following,  or 
he  may  go  on  to  the  more  detailed  account  that  is  put  last. 
The  story  is  told  three  or  four  times,  each  time  with  greater 
fullness.  The  reader  may  take  as  much  of  it  as  he  chooses. 
Climax  and  suspense  are  out  of  place. 

But  outside  of  newspapers  there  is  hardjy  any  occasion 
for  this  method.     Where  the  object,  as  usually  in  stories, 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  279 

is  not  to  give  information,  but  to  arouse  feeling,  the  point 
is  withheld  till  the  last;  for  else  interest  is  released  too  soon. 
The  story-teller's  object  is  to  hold  and  increase  interest  till 
the  close.  Whenever  a  newspaper  writer  has  this  object, 
he  too  keeps  suspense;  but  there  is  so  little  room  in  news- 
papers for  anything  but  news  that  we  may  call  the  former 
the  newspaper  method. 

In  a  family  of  six,  the  youngest,  a  girl  of  two  years,  showing 
alarming  symptoms  of  fever,  the  mother  tried  to  telephone  to  the 
family  physician.  The  connection  with  central  being  interrupted, 
she  sent  her  eldest  boy,  aged  ten,  to  the  doctor's  house.  While 
he  was  on  the  way,  the  connection  being  restored,  she  succeeded 
in  summoning  the  doctor  by  telephone.  The  doctor,  hastening  in 
his  automobile,  ran  over  the  boy,  and,  picking  him  up  uncon- 
scious, brought  him  home.  Reviving  him  in  the  presence  of  his 
mother  and  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  found  no  serious  injury. 
The  child  to  whom  he  was  originally  summoned  had  only  acute 
indigestion. 

Filling  in  details  from  your  imagination,  tell  this  story  in  two 
ways:  (1)  as  a  newspaper  story  for  information,  in  the  following 
order  —  (a)  summary  in  a  single  word  for  the  heading  of  the 
column,  (6)  summary  in  a  phrase  or  clause  for  the  next  line,  (c)  simi- 
mary  in  a  sentence  for  the  third  line,  or  third  and  fourth  lines, 
(d)  brief  account  in  one  hundred  words,  (e)  extended  account,  three 
hundred  or  more  words;  (2)  as  a  magazine  story  for  interest  (six 
hundred  or  more  words)  by  suspeuvse,  omission,  and  climax. 

Coherence  in  story-telling,  then,  means  movement  up  to 
a  climax,  the  heightening  of  interest  step  by  step  to  the 
last  scene.  In  this  respect  again,  as  in  unity,  the  story  of 
David  and  Absalom,  2  Samuel  xviii.  (see  page  275),  is  more 
intense  than  any  of  the  others  mentioned.^ 

^  See  an  analysis  of  this  story  in  Chapter  iii.  of  How  to  Write j  a 
Handbook  Based  on  the  English  Bible,  New  York,  The  Macmillan 
Company. 


280  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

With  this  story  as  a  model,  and  with  the  King  of  England  as 
the  principal  person,  make  a  story  from  the  following.  Imagine 
fully  at  first  what  scene  is  to  be  the  climax,  what  people  are  to 
be  in  this  scene  besides  the  king,  and  what  they  are  to  say  and  do. 
At  the  battle  of  Crecy  the  young  '* Black  Prince,"  son  of  the 
King  of  England,  was  in  a  division  with  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  Sir 
Reginald  Cobham,  and  other  tried  knights.  This  division  was 
so  fiercely  attacked  by  the  French  that  the  outlying  English  archers 
were  driven  in,  and  the  fight  was  hand  to  hand.  Another  English 
division  gave  assistance;  but  still  the  French  pressed  so  hard  that 
the  old  knights  sent  word  to  the  king  of  his  son's  danger.  The 
king  asked  whether  his  son  were  dead,  or  hurt,  or  brought  to 
ground.  When  the  messenger  said  no,  the  king  bade  him  com- 
mand the  prince's  men  to  make  no  more  appeal,  so  long  as  the 
prince  was  alive,  but  to  let  the  lad  win  his  spurs  and  the  glory  of 
victory.  The  messenger  having  returned  with  the  king's  reply, 
the  prince  and  his  company  fought  till  they  won. 

Having  thought  out  the  final  scene,  select  those  incidents  which 
will  lead  up  to  it  most  effectively.  Probably  nothing  of  the  bare 
summary  above  need  be  omitted;  but  all  needs  to  be  made  vivid 
by  concrete  detail,  and  rapid  by  means  of  dialogue. 

Plan  one  of  the  following  stories  so  as  to  lead  up  to  a  climax. 
Select,  omit,  or  add  details  freely.  Limit  the  time-lapse.  Use  no 
more  persons  than  you  can  make  active  and  significant.  Write 
out  the  beginning,  the  ending,  and  bits  of  dialogue  here  and  there. 

On  September  22,  1887,  a  dead  albatross  was  found  on  the 
beach  at  Fremantle,  Western  Australia,  around  whose  neck  was 
fastened  a  bit  of  metal  on  which  had  been  scratched  in  French: 

Thirteen  shipwrecked  men  took  refuge  upon  the  Crozet  Islands  on  August  4, 1887. 

The  news  was  cabled  around  the  world  by  Governor  Robin- 
son of  Western  Australia,  and  the  French  Minister  of  Marine  at 
once  ordered  the  transport  Meurthe  to  leave  Madagascar  for  the 
Crozets  to  search  for  the  castaways.  The  story  appeared  in  the 
Paris  newspapers,  and  next  day  the  commercial  house  of  Bordes 
&  Sons  of  Bordeaux  announced  that  they  feared  the  thirteen  sailors 
were  the  crew  of  their  three-masted  ship  Tamaris,  which  had 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  281 

sailed  many  months  before  for  New  Caledonia  on  a  course  not 
far  from  the  Crozets.  Her  crew  numbered  thirteen  souls  and  she 
was  long  overdue. 

The  Meurthe  returned  from  her  search  to  Madagascar  on  Janu- 
ary 6,  1888.  She  found  no  human  beings  on  the  Crozets,  but 
abundant  evidence  that  one  of  the  four  islands  had  recently  been 
occupied,  and  under  a  heap  of  stones  was  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  was  written  in  French  with  lead  pencil  the  details  of  the 
wreck  of  the  ship  Tamaris  of  Bordeaux  with  thirteen  men  in  the 
crew.  She  went  ashore  on  the  island  of  Cochous  during  a  heavy 
fog.  The  crew  had  lived  on  the  islands  for  nine  months  and, 
their  food  being  exhausted,  they  were  about  to  set  out  for  Pos- 
session Island. 

This  island  is  eighty  miles  from  Cochous.  The  Meurthe  at 
once  went  there  and  also  to  East  Island,  but  found  nothing,  and 
the  castaways  have  never  been  heard  of  since.  It  is  quite  certain 
that  they  were  lost  in  the  perilous  passage  to  Possession  Island. 

These  poor  fellows  never  dreamed  that  eight  days  before  they 
set  out  from  the  desolate  rock  where  they  had  lived  so  forlornly, 
the  bird  they  sent  over  their  waters  had  finished  its  wonderful 
flight  and  told  the  world  of  the  unhappy  situation.  The  winged 
messenger  had  made  a  journey  of  over  2000  miles  with  few  chances 
to  rest  on  the  way.  NaturaUsts  and  sailors  have  told  us  much  of 
the  albatross's  remarkable  powers  and  endurance  on  the  wing, 
but  no  testimony  of  this  fact  will  outlive  the  story  of  the  bird  that 
was  the  means  of  letting  the  world  know  that  poor  castaways  in 
ihe  waste  of  southern  waters  sorely  needed  succor. 

—  From  a  letter  to  the  New  York  Sun,  July  14,  1908. 

"Starved  to  death,"  was  all  that  the  police  surgeon  could  say 
the  other  day  when  the  concierge  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  Campagne 
Premiere  showed  him  the  body  of  a  young  woman  lying  in  the 
middle  of  a  third-floor  studio.  She  was  a  student  from  some 
village  in  Hungary.  She  was  a  mere  girl  and  all  alone.  Those 
who  knew  her  best  —  a  few  American  girls  who  studied  in  the 
same  atelier  —  called  her  Mary.  They  knew  that  she  was  very 
poor  and  not  very  well.    She  came  seldom  to  the  restaurant  they 


282  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

frequented.  Now  and  then  they  met  her  carrying  a  two-sou 
bottle  of  milk  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread.  She  was  described  as 
talented.  And  now  the  police  are  trying  to  find  out  who  her 
family  is  while  Mary's  body  lies  in  the  morgue. 

Such  cases  are  not  very  frequent  in  the  Montparnasse  quarter. 
They  only  occur  once  or  twice  a  year.  The  last  time  that  it  hap- 
pened the  victim  was  an  American  girl,  and  before  that  it  was 
again  a  Hungarian  —  a  boy  that  time.  The  story  of  his  passing 
is  now  one  of  the  legends  of  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts. 

His  name  was  Ernest.  He  was  a  hard  worker  and  something 
of  a  dreamer.  He  always  smiled  when  there  was  any  fun  going, 
but  he  never  shared  actively  in  the  sport.  His  fellow-students, 
with  whom  he  was  popular,  put  this  down  to  bad  health.  Ernest 
was  pale  and  ethereal.  He  had  a  tremendous  amount  of  talent, 
and  worked  from  the  fall  of  the  flag  to  closing  time.  The  students 
remembered  afterward  that  he  had  been  getting  paler  and  paler, 
thinner  and  thinner  for  a  long  time.  But  these  things  passed 
unnoticed  at  the  time. 

One  day,  to  the  surpise  of  every  one,  Ernest  failed  to  appear. 
There  were  a  few  jokes  about  a  possible  flirtation.  His  absence 
was  again  noticed  on  the  following  day;  then  every  one  forgot  all 
about  him. 

One  day,  a  fortnight  afterward,  as  the  anatomy  class  of  the 
Beaux  Arts  filed  into  the  dissecting  room,  there  was  a  sudden 
stop  to  horse  play  and  jokes.  The  great  silence  that  fell  on  the 
class  was  broken  only  when  some  one  murmured,  ''Mon  Dieu!" 
There  on  the  slab  was  poor  Ernest.  There  was  no  anatomy  lesson 
that  day.  An  investigation  showed  that  Ernest  had  dropped  in 
the  street  —  the  hospital  doctors  said  from  starvation.  He  died, 
and,  as  there  was  no  means  of  identification,  he  was  taken  to  the 
morgue.  The  students  afterward  took  up  a  collection  and  paid 
for  a  funeral. 

—  New  York  Times,  April  19,  1908. 

Complication  and  Solution,  —  Sometimes  interest  is  height- 
ened by  telling  of  the  hero's  difl&culties  until  we  wonder 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  283 

how  he  will  conquer  or  escape.  The  story-teller  ties,  as  it 
were,  a  knot  of  difficulties  and  then  unties  it  at  the  last. 
The  French  word,  indeed,  for  the  ending  of  such  a  story- 
means  untying,  denoument.  Tying  and  untying  —  com- 
plication and  solution  are  the  more  technical  terms  —  is 
the  way  of  many  fairy  stories.  The  knot  in  Cinderella  is 
the  loss  of  the  slipper.  Tying  and  untying  is  the  way  of 
most  stories  that  aim  at  excitement;  and  it  is  found  in  many 
others.  The  Ancient  Mariner  has  a  knot  in  the  slaying  of 
the  albatross.  But  the  turning-point  is  likely  to  be  more 
marked  in  a  long  story,  such  as  a  novel,  and  most  marked 
in  a  story  put  upon  the  stage  (page  337).  Short  stories 
may  or  may  not  follow  this  method.  The  sixth  chapter  of 
the  book  of  Daniel  makes  this  overcoming  of  difficulty,  not 
the  turning-point  of  the  story,  but  the  whole  story.  It 
opens  with  danger  to  Daniel,  passes  through  increasing  dan- 
ger up  to  his  apparent  death,  and  gives  his  release  at  the  end 
as  a  climax  of  surprise.  With  or  without  complication,  then, 
the  skilful  story-teller  aims  to  hold  and  heighten  interest 
by  such  a  plan  of  incidents  as  will  make  us  eager  to  hear 
more.  Though  we  can  have  the  interest  of  surprise  only 
when  the  story  is  new,  yet  with  some  of  the  best  stories 
we  keep  an  interest  of  sympathy  through  many  tellings. 
Knowing  at  the  start  that  Daniel  was  delivered,  that  Ab- 
salom was  killed,  we  enjoy  passing  once  more  through  those 
experiences,  feeling  with  the  principal  person,  the  hero,  as 
we  call  him,  more  and  more  intensely  up  to  the  cUmax.  In 
fact,  the  object  of  coherence  in  story-telling  is  to  hold  each 
reader  for  the  time  in  the  feeUng  that  he  himself  is  the  hero. 

Apply  these  considerations  to  your  last  story. 

How  many  persons  did  you  include,  and  how  many  days  of 
action  did  it  cover?  Review  the  present  chapter  in  this  way  by 
application  to  your  own  stories. 


284  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

Coherence  as  Moving  Steadily  and  Rapidly.  —  Weaving  In. 
—  In  all  these  respects  narrative  coherence  is  closely  bound 
up  with  narrative  unity.  The  art  of  beginning  a  story  in 
a  striking  and  significant  manner  is  learned  most  quickly 
through  a  habit  of  Umiting  the  time  (page  267  above).  By 
beginning  at  the  right  point  the  story-teller  can  move  on 
the  more  easily.  Again,  the  art  of  narrative  coherence  is 
largely  the  art  of  going  on  without  interruption,  without 
stopping  to  explain;  and  this  too  depends  on  skilful  omis- 
sion. For  the  rest,  it  consists  in  linking  details  by  the  action 
of  one  upon  another.  When  Andr6  is  challenged  by  the 
American  pickets,  the  story  need  not  stop  to  explain  how 
they  came  there.  Either  that  may  be  left  out  as  insignifi- 
cant or,  if  it  will  help  the  interest  of  the  story,  it  can  be 
hinted  in  the  dialogue,  somewhat  as  follows: 

"No,  we  must  not  stay,"  said  Paulding,  taking  hi&  long  rifle 
from  the  corner.  **The  General  thought  we  might  be  more  useful 
for  the  lack  of  uniforms,"  he  added,  glancing  rather  ruefully  at 
his  shabby  homespun  coat. 

''Does  he  expect  you  to  spy  aught  on  this  road?"  cried  she. 

'*Spy?"  said  Paulding  with  a  quick  flush. 

A  brief  dialogue  such  as  that  gives  all  the  necessary  explana- 
tion without  stopping  the  story.  We  learn  that  the  three 
are  shabby  countrymen  without  uniforms,  but  none  the 
less  proud,  that  they  carry  rifles,  and  that,  for  some  reason 
which  arouses  our  curiosity,  Washington  thinks  a  certain 
road  should  be  watched.  So,  with  poetic  brevity,  the 
ballad-maker  explains  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  stanzas  the 
situation  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence  while  at  the  same  time  he 
goes  on  with  his  action.  In  a  word,  leaving  out  all  explana- 
tion that  is  not  strictly  necessary,  weave  the  rest  into  the 
action  and  dialogue,  that  as  in  real  life  we  may  pick  up 
hints  while  we  move  along. 


NARRATIVE  PLAN  285 

The  Narrator.  —  Sometimes  a  story  will  move  more 
easily  if  you  imagine  yourself  to  be  one  of  the  characters. 
Thus  you  can  give  the  impression  of  an  eye-witness.  Of 
course,  it  is  difficult  to  tell  in  the  first  person  a  story  of  one's 
own  bravery  or  skill  without  unpleasant  boasting.  But  the 
narrator  can  imagine  himself  to  be  one  of  the  minor  persons, 
for  instance  a  friend  of  the  hero. 

Tell  over  again  the  story  on  page  280,  making  the  main  char- 
acter the  Black  Prince,  and  writing  to  honor  him.  Tell  the  story 
as  if  you  had  been  a  favorite  companion  of  the  prince,  a  noble 
youth  of  his  own  age,  fighting  by  his  side  and  carrying  the  message 
from  Sir  Reginald  Cobham  to  the  king.  For  the  final  scene, 
imagine  yourself  returning  to  the  prince's  side  just  at  the  turning- 
point  of  the  fray,  seeing  the  prince's  victory,  and  then  reporting 
the  king's  reply.  Write  the  story  partly  in  dialogue,  without 
attempting  to  imitate  the  language  of  the  period.  Limit  the  time 
to  a  few  hours. 

David  Copperfield  is  told  in  the  first  person.  Henry  Esmond^ 
though  told  in  the  third  person,  gives  the  impression  all  through 
of  having  been  written  by  the  hero  himself.  What  instances  do 
you  remember  of  short  stories  told  effectively  in  the  first  person? 

But  most  stories  are  told  conveniently  and  simply  in  the 
third  person  without  reminding  us  of  the  narrator  at  all. 

6.  EMPHASIS  IN  STORY-TELLING:  SATISFYING 
INTEREST 

The  demands  of  emphasis  have  been  clearly  implied 
throughout  this  chapter.  The  very  idea  of  concreteness  in 
story-telling  (page  249)  is  an  idea  of  heightening  our  images 
of  life,  and  that  is  an  idea  of  emphasis.  The  idea  of  climax 
is  no  more  an  idea  of  coherence,  of  leading  up,  than  it  is  of 
emphasis,  of  cuhninaLting.  In  fact,  the  commonest  aspect  of 
emphasis  in  composition  is  that  of  a  strong  ending.    Empha- 


286  NARRATIVE  PLAN 

sis  in  story-telling  means  that  the  interest  which  has  been 
stimulated  and  heightened,  incident  by  incident,  should  be 
satisfied  at  the  end.  It  means  reahzing  the  final  scene  so 
vividly  in  word  and  action  and  gesture  and  other  significant 
detail  that  it  sticks  in  the  memory,  and  leaves  nothing  more 
to  be  desired.  Concrete  all  through,  the  best  stories  are  most 
vividly  concrete  in  that  last  scene  which  we  read  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  Now  we  feel  the  full  import.  It  may  be  joyous 
after  misery  and  difficulty;  "  they  lived  happy  ever  after."  It 
may  be  sad,  or  even  tragic.  In  either  case  we  sympathize 
and  are  satisfied.  We  feel  the  outcome  as  the  necessary  issue 
of  the  story.  In  that  sense  the  story  is  finished.  It  has  not 
merely  ceased  or  broken  off;  it  has  made  upon  us  a  distinct 
impression.  The  scenes  that  we  remember  most  vividly  from 
stories  are  often  their  last  scenes,  the  scenes  in  which  the 
whole  story  finally  comes  out.  The  practical  lesson  is,  Take 
\  care  that  your  story  comes  out  in  vivid  suggestion  at  the  end. 

Recall  the  last  scene  of  a  favorite  short  story  so  as  to  show  how 
its  details  reveal  finally  the  course  of  action  and  the  main 
character. 

Write  an  essay  on  one  of  the  short  stories  read  in  the  course  of 
literature,  using  the  headings  of  this  chapter 


CHAPTER  IX 

STYLE 

Themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  should  be  short,  frequent^  and 
revised  with  reference  to  diction,  or  details  of  style.  Unified 
impressions,  such  as  those  suggested  on  page  295,  a  single  point 
on  a  single  sheet,  will  give  fluency  and  directness  in  the  writing, 
and  enhance  the  sense  of  style  in  the  revision.  Incidental  longer 
themes  are  suggested  in  the  text, 

1.  THE  ADAPTATION  OF  WORDS 

Throughout  this  book  the  stress  has  been  laid  upon  com- 
position, upon  placing  and  arranging  and  putting  together. 
Composition,  indeed,  being  definite  in  principle  and  prac- 
tically efficient  as  a  measure  and  means  of  education,  is 
the  main  subject  of  teaching.  What  every  one  wishes  above 
all  to  learn  is  how  to  put  what  he  has  to  say  into  effective 
form.  But  though  clearness  is  mainly  a  matter  of  form,  we 
have  seen  how  much  it  depends  also  on  precision  of  words 
(pages  133-140) ;  and  though  interest  may  be  achieved  by 
form,  it  depends  even  more  generally,  for  most  people,  on 
specific  concreteness  of  words  (pages  155-157).  Underlying 
both  the  idea  of  precision  and  the  idea  of  concreteness  is 
that  fundamental  principle  of  all  choice  of  words,  aptness. 
Every  composition,  spoken  or  written,  is  a  problem  in 
adaptation  to  the  audience;  and  this  problem  is  very  largely 
a  problem  of  aptness  in  words.  We  succeed  with  the 
people  that  we  address,  generally  in  proportion  as  we  make 
our  form  clear,  but  particularly  as  we  use  words  suited  to 
|.  287 


288  STYLE 

them.  Style,  which  may  be  simply  defined  as  interest  in 
words,  consists  largely  in  finding  and  keeping  the  right 
tone.  Now  the  right  tone  is  first  of  all  the  tone  suited  to 
the  audience  and  the  occasion.  We  choose  words,  not 
only  for  their  precision  or  their  concrete  suggestiveness  to 
the  imagination,  but  also  for  their  fitness.  We  try  to  make 
our  words  suit  the  occasion  and  the  readers  or  hearers. 
The  same  explanation  or  appeal  we  have  to  phrase  quite 
differently  according  as  we  address  a  club  of  newsboys,  or 
a  class  in  college,  or  an  audience  at  commencement,  or  a 
friendly  correspondent,  or  an  employer.  Though  we  may 
say  the  same  things,  we  do  not  keep  the  same  tone.  The 
right  tone  —  that  is  aptness.  Certain  words,  exact  though 
they  are,  and  concrete,  are  excluded  from  general  conversa- 
tion because  their  associations  are  too  disagreeable.  We 
reject  them  because  they  are  not  apt.  On  the  same  ground 
we  choose  between  synonyms.  The  difference  between 
boast  and  brag  is  a  difference  of  aptness.  Which  we  use 
depends  upon  whom  we  address,  and  when,  and  about  what. 
So  of  rot  and  decay ^  dear  and  'precious,  fellow  and  companion, 
scold  and  blamCy  sly  and  astute,  sweat  and  perspiration. 
Thus  we  must  constantly  choose  among  words  the  one  that 
suits  the  occasion.  Revision  for  style  consists  in  choosing 
such  words  as  will  make  what  is  significant  to  you  signifi- 
cant to  your  reader.  To  bring  you  two  together,  to  attune 
his  feehng  to  yours,  to  make  him  sympathize,  —  that  is  the 
task  of  style. 

Prepare  an  oral  application  of  this  principle  to  letter-writing. 
Write  an  essay  to  show  that  practice  in  business  letters  teaches 
five  aspects  of  aptness  which  are  useful  in  all  affairs:  (1)  to  make  , 
and  keep  acquaintances  by  the  manner  of  presenting  topics  of  com-  I 
mon  interest ;  (2)  to  praise  and  blame  without  exaggeration ;  (3)  to 
give  an  order  clearly  concisely,  and  courteously;  (4)  to  acknowledge 
with  due  appreciation;  (5)  to  be   courteous  Adthout   wordiness. 


STYLE  289 

Treat  each  in  a  paragraph,  and  arrange  the  paragraphs  in  such 
order  as  seems  to  you  effective. 

Burke's  speech  on  Conciliation  was  addressed  to  an  audience 
largely  hostile  to  his  ideas.  Point  out  a  passage  in  which  the 
style  is  adapted  to  remove  prejudice  or  win  sympathy. 

For  what  sort  of  people  was  The  Spectator  written?  Explain 
with  instances  any  trait  of  Addison's  style  adapted  to  rouse  and 
hold  their  interest. 

To  what  kind  of  readers,  or  what  mood,  are  the  following  works 
respectively  adapted?  Find  reasons  for  your  answer  in  the  style 
of  each:  Sir  Patrick  Spencej  Lyddas,  Macaulay^s  Essay  on  Addi- 
son, The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  Cranford,  The  Sketch  Book,  The  English 
M  ail-Coach  J  The  Pilgrim^  s  Progress,  a  favorite  book  of  your  own 
choice. 

Write  as  problems  in  aptness  of  style  three  of  the  following  let- 
ters, or  three  others  to  meet  distinct  situations  of  your  own 
choosing:  — 

1.  A  friend  (fix  a  distinct  person  in  mind)  is  estranged  by  an 
apparent  slight  of  yours.  Write  to  explain  and  conciliate  without 
seeming  either  over-anxious  or  haughty. 

2.  Your  uncle,  who  has  done  many  kindnesses  to  your  family, 

has  written  to  offer  you  a  place  in  his  business  at  ,  with 

good  salary  and  better  prospects,  so  soon  as  you  are  graduated 
from  college.  But  you  wish  to  study  forestry,  or  some  other  pro- 
fession, though  you  must  work  your  way  through.  Write  to  decline 
his  offer,  explaining  your  position,  thanking  him  warmly  without 
fulsome  praise,  trying  to  win  his  S3nnpathy,  though  you  know  that 
he  is  not  convinced. 

3.  Your  room-mate  has  fallen  dangerously  ill.    His  widowed 

mother  is  in  ,  four  days'  journey  away.    Telegraph  the 

fact  to  her  in  ten  words  with  a  view  to  bringing  her  at  once  without 
alarming  her  unduly.  Telegraph  to  her  again  in  ten  words  next 
morning  that  his  condition,  though  no  worse,  is  still  critical.  Ac- 
cording to  her  telegraphed  directions,  write  a  letter  to  her  in  care 
of  the  station  master  at  ,  where  she  will  change  cars. 

4.  Write  to  the  Railroad  Company  to  claim  damages 

for  the  loss  of  your  baggage. 

20 


290  STYLE 

5.  Your  associate  in  the  engineering  work  (or  any  other  occu- 
pation that  you  know  better)  at ,  through  the  jealousy  of 

other  associates  has  been  misrepresented  to  the  managers.  In 
reply  to  a  confidential  letter  from  the  managers  asking  your  opin- 
ion of  his  work,  clear  him  without  imputing  bad  motives  to  the 
others,  and  without  writing  so  warmly  as  to  give  the  impression 
that  you  are  biased  in  his  favor. 

6.  Write  explanatory  regrets  at   forgetting   an   appointment 

with  .    He  (or  she)  must  be  vexed.    Reinstate  yourself 

in  favor  without  making  false  excuses. 

7.  Write  a  letter  of  thanks  to  a  friend,  describing  your  pleasure 

at in  the  society  of ,  to  whom  she  gave  you  a  letter 

of  introduction. 

8.  Describe  the  same  interesting  event  in  three  letters:  (a)  to 
an  intimate  college  friend;  (6)  to  a  child  in  your  Sunday-school 
class;  (c)  to  Major  C,  an  old  friend  of  the  family. 

9.  Write  a  letter  of  congratulation  to  your  rival  on  his  winning 
the  prize  (appointment,  scholarship,  election)  for  which  you  have 
both  been  working. 

10.  Write  a  letter  from  Montcalm  to  the  minister  in  Paris,  urg- 
ing that  more  troops  be  sent  to  save  New  France  before  it  is  too 
late.  Montcalm  explains  what  the  English  have  accomplished, 
and  what  must  be  the  outcome  of  their  consistent  and  determined 
policy  imless  the  French  government  takes  immediate  measures 
to  check  it.  Though  the  French  soldiers  in  Canada  are  ready  to 
dispute  every  foot,  and  to  give  their  Hves,  they  must  soon  yield 
to  superior  numbers  imless  France  acts  promptly.  The  new  world 
is  at  stake.  Montcalm  writes  with  a  soldier's  conciseness,  with 
dignity,  without  complaint  or  blame,  but  with  patriotic  earnest- 
ness. Try  to  write  as  he  would  have  written  to  officials  whom 
he  wished  to  stir  without  offending  them. 

Prepare  an  oral  address  (page  219)  as  to  an  audience  of  Italian 
Americans,  Swedish  Americans,  or  other  recently  naturalized  im- 
migrants, on  the  significance  of  some  national  hoUday  (Independ- 
ence Day,  Thanksgiving  Day,  Memorial  Day,  etc.). 

Prepare  an  oral  address  to  a  hostile  audienc^,  e.g,,  urging  an 
unpopular  reform,  espousing  a  distrusted  cause,  trying  to  reinstate 


STYLE  291 

a  suspected  member  of  the  coimnunity,  or  restraining  from  rash 

punishment. 

Besides  being  apt  to  the  audience  and  the  occasion,  words 
should  be  apt  to  the  speaker.  They  should  sound  like  him. 
We  see  this  most  readily  in  the  speech  of  the  fictitious  per- 
sons of  novels  and  plays.  The  author  has  so  keenly  realized 
his  persons  in  imagination  that  he  has  made  each  speak 
like  himself  (see  pages  254-258).  How  much  of  the  char- 
acter of  Shy  lock  is  revealed  in  his  way  of  speaking!  So 
the  fanciful  extravagance  of  the  duke  in  Twelfth  Night  is 
evident  in  his  habit  of  speech;  so  the  lovely  candor  of  Des- 
demona,  the  pompous  ignorance  of  Dogberry,  the  worldly 
wisdom  of  Mark  Antony.  Each  speaks  like  himself,  in  his 
own  individual  way.  What  Shakespeare  has  thus  achieved 
supremely,  every  writer  of  fiction  in  his  degree  achieves  in 
the  same  way.     He  reveals  his  characters  by  their  style. 

Mr.  Micawber,  in  Dickens's  David  Copperfield,  always  speaks  in 
the  following  grandiloquent  style.  Tell  the  same  facts  as  they 
would  be  told  by  a  man  of  blunt,  plain  speech.  '*In  reference  to 
our  domestic  preparations,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Micawber,  with 
some  pride,  *'for  meeting  the  destiny  to  which  we  are  now  under- 
stood to  be  self-devoted,  I  beg  to  report  them.  My  eldest  daughter 
attends  at  five  every  morning  in  a  neighboring  establishment,  to 
acquire  the  process  —  if  process  it  may  be  called  —  of  milking  cows. 
My  younger  children  are  instructed  to  observe,  as  closely  as  circum- 
stances will  permit,  the  habits  of  the  pigs  and  poultry  maintained 
in  the  poorer  parts  of  this  city  —  a  pursuit  from  which  they  have, 
on  two  occasions,  been  brought  home,  within  an  inch  of  being  run 
over.  I  have  myself  directed  some  attention  during  the  past  week 
to  the  art  of  baking;  and  my  son  Wilkins  has  issued  forth  with  a 
walking-stick  and  driven  cattle,  when  permitted,  by  the  rugged  hire- 
lings who  had  them  in  charge,  to  render  any  voluntary  service  in 
that  direction  —  which  I  regret  to  say,  for  the  credit  of  our  nature, 
was  not  often,  he  being  generally  warned  with  imprecations  to 
desist."  —  Dickens,  David  Copperfield,  Chapter  liv. 


292  STYLE 

Select  for  reading  aloud  a  passage  in  the  characteristic  style  of 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  or  some  other  per- 
sonage studied  in  the  course  of  literature. 

IMAGINARY  CONVERSATIONS 

Write  some  of  the  following  dialogues  (about  200  words)  or  others 
of  your  own  choosing,  as  exercises  in  the  adaptation  of  speech  to 
character  and  mood.  Some  of  the  exercises  at  page  258  of  the 
previous  chapter  may  be  used  at  this  point. 

1.  Sir  Roger  and  the  Vicar.  Write  a  dialogue  (about  200  words) 
between  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  and  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  on 
Sunday  worship  or  the  maintenance  of  a  country  parish. 

2.  Washington  and  General  Braddock.  Write  a  dialogue  between 
the  young  Colonel  Washington  and  General  Braddock,  in  which 
the  former  dogmatically  announces  his  plan  of  attack  upon  the 
Indians,  and  the  latter  courteously  tries  to  dissuade  him.  Intro- 
duce details  of  manner  and  gesture. 

3.  Arnold  and  Gates.  At  the  battle  of  Saratoga,  General  Gates 
having  been  placed  in  command  over  Generals  Arnold,  Schuyler, 
and  Morgan,  Arnold  urged  a  more  vigorous  attack,  and  finally 
persuaded  Gates  to  let  him  lead  one  division  against  the  enemy. 
Arnold  was  quick,  impetuous,  jealous,  eager  for  fame;  Gates,  cool, 
cautious,  irritated  at  Arnold's  boldness.  Reviewing  the  facts  in 
some  history,  write  a  dialogue  between  the  two  showing  the  char- 
acter of  each. 

4.  The  New  Inspector  and  the  Old.  Re-reading  the  introduc- 
tion to  Hawthorne's  Scarlet  Letter,  write  a  dialogue  between  the 
new  inspector,  who  is  much  stirred  in  imagination  by  his  discovery 
of  the  scarlet  letter,  and  the  old  inspector,  who,  having  no  imagina- 
tion, regards  the  letter  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  as  a  bit  of  rubbish. 

5.  Grant  and  Lee.  Write  a  dialogue  between  General  Grant 
and  General  Lee  at  Appomattox  concerning  the  articles  of  surren- 
der. Try  to  make  each  speak  according  to  his  character  as  you 
understand  it:  Grant,  rather  bluntly,  but  with  honest  concern 
and  admiration;  Lee,  with  somewhat  more  formal  courtesy,  with 
greater  fulness,  and  with  a  calm  dignity.  Review  the  facts  in 
some  history.    Imagine  the  details  of  attitude  and  gesture. 


STYLE  293 

6.  The  Captain  and  the  Boy.  The  captain  of  a  New  Bedford 
whaler  dissuades  a  boy  from  running  away  to  sea. 

7.  (300  or  more  words  )  Before  Calais.  When  Edward  III  of 
England  had  taken  Calais  after  much  hard  fighting  and  loss,  he 
angrily  declared  that  he  would  put  the  inhabitants  to  the  sword. 
Then  the  French  knights  recanted  their  surrender,  declaring  that 
they  would  suffer  beside  the  poorest  lad  that  had  helped  to 
defend  the  city.  The  English  knights,  headed  by  Sir  Walter  of 
Manny,  finally  persuaded  the  king  to  change  his  purpose;  but  he 
insisted  on  taking  the  lives  of  the  six  chief  burgesses.  Sir  Walter 
having  protested  in  vain,  Queen  Philippa,  who  had  accompanied 
Edward  to  the  war,  knelt  and  interceded  with  tears  till  the  king 
jnielded.  Without  attempting  extended  dialogue,  make  this  scene 
vivid  by  attitude  and  gesture,  with  occasional  dialogue  to  show 
the  character  and  mood  of  the  actors.  Begin  with  Sir  Walter's 
report  of  the  decision  of  the  French  knights.  The  king  replies 
angrily,  Sir  Walter  pleads  for  consideration;  the  king,  after  some 
conversation,  yields  in  part.  Give  then  the  words  of  the  queen, 
and  finally,  in  one  sentence,  the  last  words  of  the  king. 

(For  further  suggestions  see  Landor's  Imaginary  Conversations.) 

These  are  exercises  of  the  imagination.  They  are  valu- 
able for  fixing  the  idea  of  style  as  the  expression  of  person- 
ality rather  than  for  any  practical  use.  Practically,  aptness 
to  the  speaker  means  aptness  to  oneself.  The  main  object 
of  studying  words  is  not  that  we  should  speak  or  write  like 
somebody  else,  but  that  we  should  better  express  ourselves. 
We  study  the  style  of  the  Spectator ,  not  in  order  to  acquire 
Addison's  style,  but  to  improve  our  own.  From  his  De 
Goverley  papers  we  learn  to  write  a  more  interesting  letter 
about  our  own  experiences  in  the  country,  to  give  so  speci- 
fically the  concrete  details  of  the  people  that  we  meet  as 
to  make  them  interesting  to  others,  to  substitute  more 
precise  and  suggestive  words  for  the  vague,  general  terms 
that  may  occur  to  us  at  first.  In  that  sense  only  we  study 
to  write  like  Addison,  or  Irving,  or  Hawthorne,  not  in  the 


294  STYLE 

sense  of  attempting  to  sound  like  them.  What  we  write  will 
sound  like  ourselves  so  long  as  we  choose  the  subject  and 
the  details  that  appeal  to  us,  and  the  words  that  seem  to 
us  most  expressive.      (See  pages  243-245.) 

The  Personal  Quality.  —  The  danger,  therefore,  is  not 
that  our  talk  and  our  letters  should  sound  like  Addison, 
but  that  they  should  sound  like  anybody  —  or  nobody. 
There  is  a  real  danger  of  talking  and  writing  in  such  set, 
commonplace  words  as  give  no  inkling  of  ourselves.  The 
danger  comes  from  carelessness  or  laziness.  Thus  we  may 
make  our  letters  dry  catalogues  instead  of  making  them 
express  ourselves.  The  expression  of  oneself  —  that  is  the 
fundamental  interest,  not  only  in  literature,  but  in  all 
familiar  conversation  and  letters.  With  this  aim,  any 
educated  person  who  really  cares  to  may  make  himself 
interesting.  He  need  not  talk  about  himself.  If  he  habit- 
ually chooses  for  subjects  the  things  of  daily  life  that  have 
impressed  him,  and  if  he  expresses  them  frankly  in  such 
words  as  will  sharply  convey  the  impression,  he  will  acquire 
a  personal  style,  a  style  of  his  own.  Profiting  by  all  the 
hints  that  he  gets  from  his  reading,  it  will  be  none  the  less 
his  own;  for  it  will  express  his  own  way  of  looking.  Since 
no  two  of  us  on  the  same  journey  will  notice  always  the 
same  things,  or  be  affected  by  them  in  the  same  way,  each 
of  us,  by  accustoming  himself  to  express  his  own  impressions, 
may  reach  a  certain  personal  quality.  Though  it  may  not 
be  style  in  that  higher  sense  which  we  attach  to  the  personal 
quality  in  literature,  it  will  be  style  in  that  more  common 
sense  in  which  we  speak  of  his  style  in  walking  or  gesture, 
in  intonation  or  manner.  It  will  be,  even  more  than  these, 
the  expression  of  himself.  Any  one  who  is  not  content  to 
talk  and  write  like  everybody  else  may  learn  to  talk  and 

write  like  himself. 

V 
Think  of  some  incident  within  your  own  experience,  the  more 


STYLE  295 

recent  the  better,  which  roused  in  you  strong  feeling  —  pity,  anger, 
admiration,  fear,  enthusiasm,  or  whatever  else  it  may  have  been. 
Recall  this  to  mind  as  distinctly  as  you  can  in  all  its  significant 
details:  how  people  spoke,  looked,  acted;  the  sounds  and  motion 
of  the  scene;  the  lights  or  colors  of  the  surroundings,  etc.  With- 
out naming  your  feeling,  and  without  explaining  more  than  is 
absolutely  necessary,  describe  the  scene  in  not  more  than  two 
hundred  words  by  choosing  such  concrete  details  and  such  words 
as  will  make  the  reader  feel  with  you. 

Let  the  following  list  suggest  other  subjects  from  your  experi- 
ence for  themes  limited  to  200  words.  Sometimes  write  a  little 
essay;  but  usually  describe  (Review  Chapter  ii.  for  nicer  and  sharper 
application  of  the  principles  learned  there.), unifying  by  such  choice 
of  details  and  words  as  will  suggest  your  personal  impression. 
For  such  descriptions  choose  in  each  case  (a)  an  incident  that 
suggests  to  you  a  definite  feeling,  and  (6)  a  characteristic  moment 
at  which  the  details  that  give  this  feeling  are  naturally  thickest. 
Narrate  the  scene  in  the  past  tense  and  (usually)  the  first  person. 
Use  characteristic  dialogue  wherever  it  will  help  your  impression. 
Without  aiming  at  style,  write  frankly  as  the  thing  strikes  you. 

1.  The  Crowd.  Recall  your  experience  in  some  crowd,  audi- 
ence, or  congregation.  How  did  you  feel?  Express  this  feeling, 
without  naming  it,  by  giving  specifically,  those  concrete  details 
of  touch,  soimd,  motion,  odor,  light,  etc.,  which  made  you  feel  so. 

2.  The  Campus  at  Night.  14.  On  the  Bridge. 

3.  Home  for  the  Holidays.  15.  Under  the  Bridge. 

4.  Lost.  16.  A  Country  Dinner. 

5.  The  Restaurant.  17.  The  Swimming  Hole* 

6.  Pluck.  18.  Selling  a  Horse. 

7.  In  My  Room.  19.  The  Grocery. 

8.  On  the  Road.  20.  The  Drug  Store. 

9.  On  the  Street.  21.  The  Last  Examination. 

10.  The  Camp  Meeting.  22.  A  Student  Waiter. 

11.  Catching  the  Boat.  23.  A  College  Snob. 

12.  The  Ninth  Inning.  24.  A  Street  Fakir. 

13.  A  Hot  Day  in  the  Field.  25.  Captain  Jerry  and  his  New  Boat* 


296  STYLE 

26.  Hazing.  32.  A  Field  Goal. 

27.  Being  a  Good  Fellow.  33.  Gypsies. 

28.  A  Lecture  in .  34.  With  the  Glee  Club, 

29.  Buying  Clothes.  35.  Circus  Day. 

30.  The  Camp  Fire.  36.  Morning  Chapel. 

31.  The  Haunted  House.  37.  The  Last  Paper. 

2.  THE  SOUND   OF  SENTENCES 

On,  then,  all  Frenchmen  that  have  hearts  in  your  bodies!  Roar 
with  all  your  throats  of  cartilage  and  metal,  ye  sons  of  libertyl 
Stir  spasmodically  whatsoever  of  utmost  faculty  is  in  you,  soul, 
body^  or  spirit;  for  it  is  the  hour!  Smite  thou,  Louis  Tournay, 
cartwright  of  the  Marais,  old  soldier  of  the  regiment  Dauphin^! 
Smite  at  that  outer  drawbridge  chain,  though  the  fiery  hail  whistles 
roimd  thee  I  Never,  over  nave  or  felloe,  did  thy  axe  strike  such 
a  stroke.  — Carlyle,  French  Revolution^  V.  vi. 

The  force  of  this  passage  is  due  partly  to  specific,  con- 
crete words,  especially  to  the  apt  verbs,  roaVy  smites  whistles^ 
etc.  But  it  is  due  also  to  the  form  of  the  sentences.  They 
swing,  as  it  were,  in  time  with  the  action.  Our  imagination 
is  stirred,  not  only  by  the  suggestiveness  of  the  words,  but 
by  the  very  sound  of  the  sentences.  This  will  become 
plainer  if  we  combine  the  same  words  in  different  sentence- 
forms: 

All  ye  Frenchmen  that  have  hearts  in  your  bodies,  ye  sons  of 
liberty,  on,  then!  roaring  with  all  your  throats  of  cartilage  and 
metal,  stirring  spasmodically,  for  it  is  the  hour,  whatsoever  of 
utmost  faculty  is  in  you.  Louis  Tournay,  cartwright  of  the  Marais, 
old  soldier  of  the  Regiment  Dauphine,  though  the  fiery  hail  whistles 
round  thee,  smite  at  that  outer  drawbridge  chain ;  for  thy  axe  never 
struck  such  a  stroke  over  nave  or  felloe. 

The  words  are  the  same;  but  the  description  no  longer 
carries  us  with  the  same  swing.  Evidently  feeling  is  con- 
veyed, not  only  through  the  force  of  separate  words,  but 


STYLE  297 

also  through  the  movement  of  sentences.  We  are  not 
fanciful,  then,  when  we  speak  of  a  passage  as  sounding 
right  or  wrong.  The  effect  of  the  sound  of  sentences  con- 
tributes also  to  the  dignity  and  solemnity  of  the  familiar 
Gettysburg  address: 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth  upon 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated 
to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal.  Now  we  are 
engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any 
nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure. 

The  effect  of  this  is  of  course  primarily  the  effect  of  the 
thing  said,  and  secondarily  of  the  aptness  of  the  separate 
words.  But  without  the  change  of  a  word  this  impressive 
opening  will  lose  much  of  its  effect  by  mere  change  in  the 
sentence-forms: 

Our  fathers  brought  forth  upon  this  continent  a  new  nation. 
It  was  conceived  in  liberty.  •  It  was  dedicated  to  the  proposition 
that  all  men  are  created  equal.  That  was  fourscore  and  seven 
years  ago.  The  great  civil  war  in  which  we  are  now  engaged  is 
a  test.  Can  this  nation,  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  long 
endure?    Can  any  nation? 

The  impression  is  quite  changed,  as  when  a  piece  of  music 
is  played  in  the  wrong  time.  What  is  thus  apparent  in 
two  passages  so  widely  different  is  true  of  all  composition 
that  appeals  to  feeling.  Aptness,  or  appropriateness  to 
the  mood  that  we  wish  to  awaken,  depends,  not  only  on 
the  choice  of  words,  but  on  the  sound  of  clauses  and  sen- 
tences, on  their  rise  and  fall, — in  a  word,  on  their  movement. 

The  Sound  of  Verse.  —  The  effect  of  sentence-movement 
upon  feeling  is  plainest,  of  course,  in  verse.  Poetry  is  the 
highest  expression  of  feeling  in  words;  and  much  of  its 
power  to  stir  us  comes  from  its  movement,  from  the  way 
in  which  its  sentences  run  or  flow;  t\6.,  from  its  sound.     This 


298  STYLE 

is  never  independent  of  its  meaning;  for  we  are  not  much 
moved  by  versified  nonsense;  but  it  has,  nevertheless,  an 
effect  of  its  own.  The  beauty  or  pathos  or  gaiety  of  verse 
is  partly  an  effect  of  the  sound  of  its  sentences. 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

The  slow  and  solemn  effect  of  this  stanza  is  due  first  to 
the  choice  of  details;  that  is,  to  the  things  talked  about. 
It  is  due  also  to  the  specific,  concrete  words  in  which  they 
are  expressed:  curfew  (not  bell),  knell  (not  stroke),  plods 
(not  walks),  etc.  So  much  is  plain  from  our  previous  study. 
But  there  is  something  else.  The  impression  of  slowness 
and  solemnity  is  enhanced  by  the  very  sound  of  the  long 
vowels  and  by  the  flow  of  the  verse.  Contrast  these  sounds 
and  this  movement  with  those  of  Browning's  Pied  Piper: 

All  the  little  boys  and  girls, 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls, 

And  sparkhng  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls, 

Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 

The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 

Again  the  effect  is  due  to  the  choice  of  details  and  to  the 
concrete,  specific  expression;  but  the  impression  of  lightness 
and  gaiety  is  very  much  enhanced  by  the  short  vowels,  the 
short  lines,  the  quick  rhythm.  The  verse  dances  in  time  to 
the  feeling.  What  is  felt  in  this  striking  contrast  is  true  of 
poetry  in  general.  Poetry,  being  the  expression  of  feeling, 
communicates  the  poet's  mood  by  aptness  of  sound. 

Blow  trumpet !  he  will  lift  us  from  the  dust. 
Blow  trumpet!  live  the  strength,  and  die  the  lust! 
Clang  battle-axe,  and  clash  brand!    Let  the  King  reign! 
—  Tennyson,  Idylls  of  the  King,  The  Cohiing  of  Arthur. 


STYLE  299 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he ; 
I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three. 
**Good  speed!"  cried  the  watch,  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew. 
**Speed!''  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through. 
Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 
And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 
« —  Browning,  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent  to  Aix, 

Notice  the  marked  effect  of  the  short  clauses  in  Old  English 
poetry  as  imitated  at  page  324. 

Select  for  reading  aloud  a  passage  of  verse  in  which  the  soimd 
is  adapted  to  the  feeling. 

Rime,  —  Rime,  which  is  characteristic  of  most  modern 
poetry,  shows  the  pleasure  that  we  have  in  mere  sound. 
The  regular  recurrence  of  a  certain  sound  at  the  end  of  the 
line  adds  nothing  to  the  sense;  but  it  adds  much  to  our  feel- 
ing. Aside  from  the  emphasis  that  it  gives  to  certain  words, 
it  is  there  purely  for  the  pleasure  of  the  ear.  Similar  is  that 
habit  in  Old  English  verse  of  repeating,  not  the  sound  at 
the  end,  but  the  sound  at  the  beginning.  Alliteration,  as  it 
is  called,  long  used  before  the  adoption  of  rime,  has  been 
retained  in  modern  verse  as  an  added  appeal  to  feeling,  an 
added  means  of  pleasure: 

Shook  after  shook,  the  song-built  towers  and  gates 

iKeel,  6ruised  and  6utted  with  the  s/iuddering 

War-thunder  of  iron  rams.  ^  rr..     - 

—  Tennyson,  Tiresias. 

Rhythm  and  Meter.  —  But  far  more  important  than 
rime  or  alliteration  in  aptness  to  the  mood  of  the  author 
or  the  scene  is  the  beat  of  the  verse,  the  rhythm.  The  rhythm 
of  verse  is  the  regular  recurrence  of  accent  or  stress.  This 
is  the  chief  means  of  suggesting  feeling  by  sound.  The 
quickness  or  slowness  of  the  movement,  its  lightness  or 
heaviness,  is  mainly  an  effect  of  the  rhythm.     Verse  began 


300  STYLE 

in  dancing.     The  beat  of  the  word  chimed  with  the  beat  of 

the  foot,  as  in  marching  songs  to-day.     And  as  our  English 

language  has  kept,  more  than  some  other  languages,  the 

old  habit  of  marking  the  root  syllable  of  every  word  by  p 

stress  or  accent,  English  verse  still  depends  mainly  upon 

beats  or  stresses.     The  rhythm  of  English,  whether  in  verse 

or  in  prose,  is  the  recurrence  of  beats  or  stresses  as  in  dancing 

or  marching;  and  the  rhythm  of  English  verse  —  what  we 

call  meter  —  is  regular  or  fixed  recurrence  of  beat  or  stress. 

Thus  we  speak  of  a  verse  of  two  accents  or  a  two-stress 

verse: 

Over  the  mountains 

And  over  the  waves, 

Under  the  fountains 

And  under  the  graves. 

The  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence  (page  263),  like  many 
other  ballads,  is  in  four-stress  lines  alternating  with  three- 
stress  lines.  Shakespeare  and  Milton  wrote  oftenest  in  a 
five-stress  verse: 

To  b^  or  not  to  h6,  that  is  the  question. 

The  movement  or  flow  of  the  verse  depends  on  the  number 
of  unaccented  syllables  coming  between  two  stresses.  When 
there  is  regularly  one  unstressed  syllable  between,  the  verse 
is  called  trochaic: 

Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers. 

The  stressed  syllable  taken  with  the  corresponding  un- 
stressed syllable  is  called  a  foot.  Thus  moHrnful  or  numbers 
is  called  a  trochaic  foot,  or  trochee;  i.e.,  a  running  or  rapid 
measure.  When  two  unstressed  syllables  follow  the  stress, 
the  foot  is  called  a  dactyl.  The  word  means  finger.  It  is  ap- 
plied in  this  way  because  a  finger  has  one  long  joint  and  two 

short  ones,  as:  . 

Rashly  importunate. 


STYLE  301 

These  terms,  borrowed  from  Greek  verse,  are  commonly 
expressed  by  signs:  _  v^  for  a  trochee;  -_  v^vy  for  a  dactyl. 
The  signs,  which  are  the  same  as  those  used  in  dictionaries  to 
mark  the  length  of  vowels,  are  more  appropriate  to  Greek 
verse,  which  really  depends  on  the  alternation  of  long  and 
short.  In  English  verse,  though  they  express  rather  stress  and 
unstress,  they  are  nevertheless  convenient.  To  scan  a  verse 
is  to  read  it  aloud,  or  to  write  it  out  in  these  signs,  so  as  to 
show  its  rhythm;  I.e.,  the  number  and  frequency  of  its  stresses. 

When  the  verse  goes  the  other  way  about,  beginning 
with  the  unstressed  syllable,  it  has  a  different  effect,  and  is 
called  by  a  different  name.  With  one  unstressed  syllable 
between,  it  is  called  iambic: 

It  bl^sseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes. 

The  single  foot  is  called  an  iambus  or  iamb  (\j  _ ).  This  is 
merely  a  trochee  turned  around.  A  dactyl  turned  around 
is  called  an  anapest  (wv^  __): 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  fiUen  of  young  Lochinvar. 

\^   \J  —  \^    \y  WW  —  WW  

WW   WW   WW   WW   

But  in  dividing  verses  thus  we  must  remember  two  im- 
portant facts.  First,  in  using  iambic  or  anapestic  verse  the 
best  EngUsh  poets  admit  an  occasional  trochee  or  dactyl  for 
variety : 

Cassio,    The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore 
Ye  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees. 
Hail  to  thee,  lady !  and  the  grace  of  heaven. 
Before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 
En  wheel  thee  roimd. 

Desdemona.  I  thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 

—  O^^etto,  II.,  i.  S2. 


302  STYLE 

This  passage,  like  many  another  in  Shakespeare,  though  it 
follows  generally  the  iambic  measure  of  all  his  plays,  has 
in  its  third  line  a  movement  rather  trochaic  and  dactylic. 
Being  too  sHght  to  disturb  the  normal  iambic  flow  of  the 
meter,  such  variations  give  a  pleasant  relief.  A  poem  that 
is  strictly  iambic  throughout,  with  no  such  variations,  tends 
to  become  monotonous.  Besides,  in  English  verse,  the 
number  or  place  of  the  unstressed  syllables  is  of  less  conse- 
quence than  the  stresses.  English  meter  is  determined  not 
so  much  by  the  number  of  syllables  as  by  the  number  of 
stresses.  Hence  arises  a  second  important  fact  of  English 
meter.  The  unstressed  part  of  the  foot  is  sometimes  omitted. 
Thus  two  stresses  are  brought  together,  with  an  effect  of 
slowness,  weight,  or  pause,  and  the  foot  is  said  to  be  syn- 
copated: 

Break!  break!  break!  

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  seal  w  w  —  w  _  v^  — 

These  two  lines,  though  the  first  has  three  syllables  and 
the  second  seven,  are  metrically  equivalent;  for  they  have 
the  same  number  of  stresses.  We  feel  them  so  as  we  read 
them,  dwelling  longer  on  each  syllable  of  the  first  verse; 
and  we  feel  also  the  variety  and  the  adaptation  to  feeling  in 
the  lingering  measure  of  the  first.  The  opening  verse  of 
Hamlet's  soUloquy,  quoted  above,  has  syncope  in  the  fourth 
foot;  and  the  marching  hymn  of  Arthur's  knights,  quoted 
on  page  298,  derives  from  this  device  much  of  its  effect. 

Adaptation  of  Verse-Form  to  Feeling.  —  The  adaptation 
of  rhythm  to  mood,  indeed,  is  the  chief  way  in  which  verse 
makes  its  appeal  to  feeling  by  sound.  Thus  certain  verse- 
forms  are  felt  to  be  appropriate  to  certain  kinds  of  com- 
position. For  narrative  poems  of  weight  and  dignity  we 
are  accustomed  to  the  five-stress  iambic.  "Ij^his  is  called  the 
English  heroic  verse.     It  is  the  verse  of  Shakespeare's  plays. 


STYLE  303 

of  Milton^s  Paradise  Lost,  of  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King. 
Rhymed  in  couplets  (heroic  couplet)  j  it  is  the  favorite  verse 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  is  heard  at  its  best  in  Pope. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  simple  ballad  tales  use  a  shorter 
verse: 

The  king  sits  in  Dumf^rling  town,  ^ v/w  —  w— . 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine.  —  vy  w  —  >^  — 

O  wh^re  will  I  g^t  a  good  sailor  \j  ^  kj  \y  ^  \j \j 

To  sail  this  ship  of  mine?  w  __  w  —  >^  _« 

Similarly  Scott  uses  a  four-stress  verse  in  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake  and  Marmion,  A  still  shorter  Hne  enhances  the  feeling 
of  stir  and  go  in  Drayton's  fine  Ballad  of  Agincourt: 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France,  -_  w  w  __  vy  _« 

When  we  our  sails  advance,  w  __  ^  —  w  — 

Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance  w \j \y 

Longer  will  tarry;  >^  w \j 

But  putting  to  the  main,  v^'  —  w  _  w  _ 

At  Caux,  the  mouth  of  Seine,  w  »__  ^  —  ^^y  — 

With  all  his  martial  train,  v^  __  w  _  v>' 

Landed  Ejng  Harry.  ^  \j  \j  ^  \j 

Poitiers  and  Cressy  tell, 

When  most  their  pride  did  swell, 

Under  our  swords  they  fell. 

No  less  our  skill  is 
Than  when  our  grandsire  great 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 

Lopped  the  French  lilies. 

Any  group  of  lines  forming,  as  in  the  two  poems  above, 
a  definite  part  is  called  a  stanza.  The  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick 
Spence  is  written  in  stanzas  of  four  lines  riming  alter- 
nately, the  first  and  third  of  four  stresses,  the  second  and 
fourth  of  three.    This  is  the  simplest  of  stanzas,  entirely 


304  STYLE 

appropriate  to  the  simple  ballad  stories.  Drayton  in  his 
Agincourt  uses  a  stanza  of  eight  three-stress  lines.  1,  2, 
and  3  rime  together;  5,  6,  and  7;  4  and  8.  Thus  the  scheme 
of  rimes  may  be  indicated  by  letters :  aaah  c  ccb.  In 
the  familiar  love-poem  To  Althea,  from  Prison,  two  ballad 
stanzas  are  combined  in  one :  ah  ah  cd  cd: 

When  love  with  unconfinM  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  diviae  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 

And  fettered  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Poetry  of  this  latter  kind,  not  telling  a  story,  but  simply 
expressing  emotion,  is  called  lyric,  or  song  (see  page  327). 
The  difference  between  lyric  movement  and  narrative 
movement  is  marked  in  those  scenes  where  Shakespeare 
introduces  songs,  as  also  in  Tennyson's  Princess.  After  the 
steady  march  of  the  longer  narrative  verse  the  charm  of  the 
lyric  stanzas  is  felt  the  more  by  contrast.  A  reading  aloud 
of  the  close  of  Act  II.  in  As  You  Like  It,  for  instance,  begin- 
ning with  "All  the  world's  a  stage,'*  will  mark  the  adapta- 
tion of  rhythm  to  feeling. 

Further,  poets  suggest  or  heighten  feeling  by  the  choice 
and  adaptation  of  the  lyric  stanza  itself.  The  best  English 
lyrics  reveal  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  adaptation,  ranging 
all  the  way  from  the  frank  and  simple  stanza  To  Althea  to 
such  complex  and  subtle  rhythms  and  rime-schemes  as  those 
of  Gray's  Bard  or  Wordsworth's  Intimations  of  Immortality. 
Find  the  following  lyrics  and  read  them  aloud.  By  scansion 
of  each,  and  by  comparing  one  with  another,  show  the  adap- 
tation of  the  verse  and  the  stanza  to  the  toood. 


STYLE  306 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I. 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky. 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea. 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart. 

Piping  down  the  valleys  wild  (Blake). 

Toll  for  the  brave. 

O  World!  OLife!  O  Time  I 

Lead,  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom. 

Go,  lovely  Rose  I 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night. 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances  I 

O  wild  west  wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn  ^s  being. 

Break!  break!  break! 

The  Sound  of  Prose.  —  Thus  poetry  shows  us  clearly  how 
far  suggestions  of  feeling  are  heightened  by  sound.  It 
shows  us  that  the  heightening  comes  mainly  from  rhythm. 
This  method  of  enhancing  emotion  by  sound  is  proper  to 
poetry;  but  it  is  possible  also  to  prose.  Indeed,  the  differ- 
ence in  this  regard  between  the  poetry  of  feeling  and  the 
prose  of  feeling  is  not  in  the  presence  or  absence  of  rhythm, 
but  in  its  regularity.  In  poetry  the  rhythm  is  fixed.  Each 
line  has  a  fixed  number  of  stresses;  and  the  whole  poem 
has  a  regular  system  of  recurrences,  a  fixed  rhythm,  which 
is  called  meter.  Prose,  on  the  other  hand,  is  unmetrical; 
its  rhythm  is  not  fixed.  But  though  it  must  be  un- 
metrical, it  may  be  rhythmical;  it  may  add  to  the  sug- 
gestions of  concrete  imagery  or  of  elegant  precision  the 
suggestions  of  rhythm.  Thus  we  often  speak  of  an  emo- 
tional prose  passage  as  rapid  or  slow,  sonorous,  monotonous, 
smooth,  or  abrupt;  and  in  every  such  case  we  are  speaking 
of  its  rhythm.  We  mean  that  there  is  adaptation  to  feeling 
in  the  very  sound  of  the  sentences. 

In  prose  and  verse  alike,  the  adaptation  of  sound  to  feeling 
may  be  gained  by  imitative  words,  such  as  clash,  roar,  whizz, 
21 


306  STYLE 

hiss,  boom.  Though  such  words  are  comparatively  few,  and 
their  frequent  use  would  be  childish,  we  may  without  direct 
imitation  use  words  whose  sounds  harmonize  with  the  sense 
and  the  feeling.  The  phrase  drums  and  tramplings,  without 
imitation,  suggests  soldiers  marching.  Dickens's  Miss  Peecher, 
cherry-cheeked  and  tuneful  of  voice,  sounds  like  the  twittering 
of  a  bird.  Newman's  description  of  surf  is  suggestive  both 
by  the  sound  of  the  separate  words  and  by  the  rhythm: 

.  .  .  those  graceful,  fan-like  jets  of  silver  upon  the  rocks,  which 
slowly  rise  aloft  like  water  spirits  from  the  deep,  then  shiver,  and 
break,  and  spread,  and  shroud  themselves,  and  disappear  in  a 
soft  mist  of  foam ;  nor  of  the  gentle,  incessant  heaving  and  panting 
of  the  whole  liquid  plain;  nor  of  the  long  waves,  keeping  steady 
time,  like  a  line  of  soldiery,  as  they  resound  upon  the  hollow  shore. 
—  Newman,  Historical  Sketches,  I.,  iii. 

For  the  longer,  smoother,  and  statelier  rhythms,  verse  and 
prose  alike  depend  largely  upon  Latin  derivatives  which  are 
appropriate  aUke  to  deliberate  movement  and  to  deliberative 
mood. 

We  were  now  treading  that  illustrious  island  which  was  once  the 
luminary  of  the  Caledonian  regions,  whence  savage  clans  and 
roving  barbarians  derived  the  benefits  of  knowledge  and  the  bless- 
ings of  religion.  To  abstract  the  mind  from  all  local  emotion 
would  be  impossible  if  it  were  endeavored,  and  would  be  foolish 
if  it  were  possible.  Whatever  withdraws  us  from  the  power  of  our 
senses,  whatever  makes  the  past,  the  distant,  or  the  future  pre- 
dominate over  the  present,  advances  us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking 
beings.  Far  from  me  and  from  my  friends  be  such  frigid  philos- 
ophy as  may  conduct  us  indifferent  and  unmoved  over  any  ground 
which  has  been  digraified  by  wisdom,  bravery,  or  virtue.  The 
man  is  little  to  be  envied  whose  patriotism  would  not  gain  force 
upon  the  plain  of  Marathon,  or  whose  piety  would  not  grow  warmer 
among  the  ruins  of  lona. 
— Johnson,  A  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of  "Scotland,  IcolmkiU, 


STYLE  307 

Again,  verse  and  prose  alike  may  use  alliteration  (page 
299),  or  enhance  an  effect  of  slowness,  lingering,  or  heavi- 
ness, by  syncope  (page  302).  The  main  difference  is  that 
prose  rhythms  are  freer.  Prose  is  not  only  unmetrical;  it 
also  permits  a  longer  succession  of  unstressed  syllables. 
Between  two  stresses  verse  can  rarely  have  more  than  two 
unstressed  syllables;  prose  very  often  has  three,  or  even 
four.  To  consider  such  details  in  the  writing  of  ordinary 
prose  would  probably  lead  to  affectation  and  feebleness; 
but  to  read  fine  prose  aloud  with  this  view  increases  the 
appreciation  of  literature.  For  practical  purposes  of  revi- 
sion, the  main  consideration  of  rhythm  is  sentence  emphasis. 
The  rule  that  a  sentence  should  end  with  its  most  significant 
word  arises  from  the  fact  that  at  the  end  of  the  sentence 
the  voice  falls  naturally  and  then  pauses.  If  we  put  into 
this  place  the  word  most  important  for  carrying  on  the 
thought  of  the  paragraph,  we  make  the  rhythm  serve  the 
sense.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  put  there  some  less  im- 
portant part,  we  lose  an  opportunity.  If  finally  we  put 
there  some  phrase  that  merely  fills  out  the  rhythm,  we 
sacrifice  sense  to  sound.  This  last  is  the  cause  of  bombast 
or  padding.  For  redundancy,  the  use  of  more  words  than 
are  demanded  by  the  sense,  arises  very  often  from  the 
natural  tendency  to  carry  the  rhythm  to  a  full  close,  to 
fill  out  the  cadence;  and  the  corresponding  remedy  is  so  to 
recast  the  whole  sentence,  by  bringing  the  important  word 
to  the  end,  that  sound  and  sense  may  be  satisfied  at  once.* 

Observe  in  the  following  how  the  cadence  of  each  sentence  at 
once  chimes  with  the  feeling  and  marks  the  word  that  is  significant 
for  carrying  forward  the  thought : 

It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen 
of  France,  then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles;  and  surely  never 

1  See  pages  109-112. 


308  STYLE 

lighted  on  this  orb,  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more 
delightful  vision.  I  saw  her  just  above  the  horizon,  decorating 
and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she  just  began  to  move  in;  glitter- 
ing like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life,  and  splendor,  and  joy.  Oh! 
what  a  revolution!  and  what  a  heart  must  I  have  to  contemplate 
without  emotion  that  elevation  and  that  fall!  Little  did  I  dream 
when  she  added  titles  of  veneration  to  those  of  enthusiastic,  dis- 
tant, respectful  love,  that  she  should  ever  be  obliged  to  carry  the 
sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed  in  that  bosom;  little 
did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  Hved  to  see  such  disasters  fallen 
upon  her  in  a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honor 
and  of  cavaliers.  I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have 
leaped  from  their  scabbards  to  avenge  even  a  look  that  threatened 
her  with  insult.  But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophis- 
ters,  economists,  and  calculators,  has  succeeded;  and  the  glory  of 
Europe  is  extinguished  for  ever.  Never,  never  more,  shall  we 
behold  that  generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex,  that  proud  sub- 
mission, that  dignified  obedience,  that  subordination  of  the  heart, 
which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itself,  the  spirit  of  an  exalted 
freedom.  The  unbought  grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defence  of  na- 
tions, the  nurse  of  manly  sentiments  and  heroic  enterprise,  is  gone ! 
It  is  gone,  that  sensibility  of  principle,  that  chastity  of  honor, 
which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired  courage  whilst  it 
mitigated  ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it  touched,  and 
under  which  vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil,  by  losing  all  its  grossness. 
—  Burke,  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France, 

Observe  also  in  this  passage  the  use  of  Latin  derivatives  to  give 
a  dignified  and  sustained  rhythm,  and  the  variety  of  the  sentences 
(page  313)  in  length  and  form.  Notice  the  marked  and  appro- 
priate rhythm,  and  the  incidental  aUiteration,  in  such  clauses 
as  /  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have  leaped  from  their  scab- 
hards.  The  whole  paragraph  should  be  read  aloud  to  mark  its 
cadences. 

Rapidity,  —  In  revising  our  own  prose  to  enhance  the 
suggestion  of  feeling,  rhythm  may  withoilt  affectation  be 


STYLE  309 

considered  definitely  in  its  application  to  the  length  of 
sentences.  By  reading  our  descriptions  aloud  we  may 
quite  simply  adapt  the  length  of  the  sentences  to  the  quick- 
ness or  slowness  of  the  action  and  to  the  agitation  or  tran- 
quilHty  of  the  mood.  Generally,  short  sentences  are  better 
to  express  haste,  suddenness,  or  tumult;  long  sentences  to 
express  deUberation  or  calm. 

The  sea,  the  atmosphere,  the  light,  bore  each  an  orchestral  part 
in  this  universal  lull.  Moonlight  and  the  first  timid  tremblings 
of  the  dawn  were  by  this  time  blending;  and  the  blendings  were 
brought  into  a  still  more  exquisite  state  of  unity  by  a  slight  sil- 
very mist,  motionless  and  dreamy,  that  covered  the  woods  and 
fields,  but  with  a  veil  of  equable  transparency.  Except  the  feet 
of  our  own  horses,  which,  running  on  a  sandy  margin  of  the  road, 
made  but  little  disturbance,  there  was  no  sound  abroad.  In  the 
clouds  and  on  the  earth  prevailed  the  same  majestic  peace;  and, 
in  spite  of  all  that  the  villain  of  a  schoolmaster  has  done  for  the 
ruin  of  our  sublimer  thoughts,  which  are  the  thoughts  of  our 
infancy,  we  still  believe  in  no  such  nonsense  as  a  limited  atmosphere. 
Whatever  we  may  swear  with  our  false  feigning  lips,  in  our  faithful 
hearts  we  still  believe,  and  must  forever  believe,  in  fields  of  air 
traversing  the  total  gulf  between  earth  and  the  central  heavens. 
Still,  in  the  confidence  of  children  that  tread  without  fear  every 
chamber  in  their  father \s  house,  and  to  whom  no  door  is  closed, 
we,  in  that  Sabbatic  vision  which  sometimes  is  revealed  for  an 
hour  upon  nights  like  this,  ascend  with  easy  steps  from  the 
sorrow-stricken  fields  of  earth  upwards  to  the  sandals  of  God. 

—  De  Quincey, 
The  English  Mail-Coach^  The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death. 

The  reading  of  this  passage  aloud  reveals  a  rhythmical 
rise  and  fall.  Not  the  fixed  rhythm  of  meter,  it  is  never- 
theless felt  as  we  read.  It  heightens  our  sympathy  with 
the  mood  of  peace;  and  it  naturally  becomes  plainer,  though 
never  metrical,  as  the  feeUng  of  peace  expands  to  the  feeling 


310  STYLE 

of  faith  at  the  close.  The  delicate  adaptation  of  sound  to 
feeling  is  due  partly  to  the  choice  of  those  longer,  smoother 
words  that  we  have  from  the  Latin;  it  is  due  partly  to  un- 
obtrusive alliteration  (page  299);  but  the  impression  of 
calm  is  given  mainly  by  a  certain  even  rise  and  fall  of  rhythm 
in  long,  deliberate  sentences.  When  this  mood  is  broken, 
the  sentences  break  accordingly.     The  rhythm  changes: 

What  could  be  done  —  who  was  it  that  could  do  it  —  to  check 
the  storm-flight  of  these  maniacal  horses?  Could  I  not  seize  the 
reins  from  the  grasp  of  the  slumbering  coachman?  .  .  .  The 
sounds  ahead  strengthened,  and  were  now  too  clearly  the  sounds 
of  wheels.  Who  and  what  could  it  be?  Was  it  industry  in  a 
taxed  cart?  Was  it  youthful  gaiety  in  a  gig?  Was  it  sorrow 
that  loitered,  or  joy  that  raced? 

The  more  rapid  effect  of  breaking  the  rhythm  by  short 
sentences  is  felt  in  Thackeray's  description  of  the  excite- 
ment in  Brussels  during  the  battle  of  Waterloo: 

The  merchants  closed  their  shops,  and  came  out  to  swell 
the  general  chorus  of  alarm  and  clamor.  Women  rushed  to  the 
churches,  and  crowded  the  chapels,  and  knelt  and  prayed  on  the 
flags  and  steps.  The  dull  sound  of  the  cannon  went  on  rolling, 
rolling.  Presently  carriages  with  travelers  began  to  leave  the 
town,  galloping  away  by  the  Ghent  barrier.  The  prophecies  of 
the  French  partisans  began  to  pass  for  facts.  ''He  has  cut  the 
armies  in  two,"  it  was  said.  ''He  is  marching  straight  on  Brussels. 
He  will  overpower  the  English,  and  be  here  to-night.'* 

—  Thackeray,  Vanity  Fair,  Chapter  xxxii. 

In  choice  of  words  this  description  is  not  very  striking.  The 
effect  of  tumult  is  due  almost  entirely  to  the  length  and 
form  of  the  sentences.  The  shorter,  unconnected  sentences 
of  the  following  description  are  more  fully  adapted  to  the 
agitation  of  strong  feeUng.     The  abrupt,  broken  rhythm 


STYLE  311 

helps  us  feel  the  tumult  of  a  young  father  as  he  rushes  out 
into  the  forest  and  the  storm: 

He  left  the  high  road  and  pierced  into  the  forest.  His  walk  was 
rapid.  The  leaves  on  the  trees  brushed  his  cheeks,  the  dead 
leaves  in  the  dells  noised  to  his  feet.  Something  of  a  religious 
joy,  a  strange,  sacred  pleasure,  was  in  him.  By  degrees  it  wore. 
He  remembered  himself;  and  now  he  was  possessed  by  a  propor- 
tionate anguish.  A  father!  He  dared  never  see  his  child.  .  .  . 
The  ground  began  to  dip.  He  lost  sight  of  the  sky.  Then  heavy 
thunder-drops  struck  his  cheek.  The  leaves  were  singing.  The 
earth  breathed.  It  was  black  before  him  and  behind.  All  at 
once  the  thunder  spoke.  The  moimtain  he  had  marked  was 
bursting  over  him.  Up  started  the  whole  forest  in  violent  fire. 
—  George  Meredith,  The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverely  Chapter  xliii. 

To  combine  these  detached  statements  into  more  logical 
sentences  would  much  mar  the  impression;  for  it  would 
make  the  sentence-movement,  or  rhythm,  slower  and  more 
deliberate  (see  pages  144-146). 

When  he  left  the  high  road  and  pierced  into  the  forest  with 
rapid  walk,  the  leaves  on  the  trees  brushed  his  cheek,  and  the 
dead  leaves  in  the  dells  noised  to  his  feet.  That  something  of  relig- 
ious joy  within  him,  that  strange  and  sacred  pleasure,  wore  by 
degrees  until,  remembering  himself,  he  was  possessed  by  a  pro- 
portionate anguish.  Though  he  was  a  father,  he  dared  never 
see  his  child.  ...  As  the  ground  began  to  dip  until  he  lost  sight 
of  the  sky,  while  the  heavy  thunder-drops  that  sang  in  the  leaves 
struck  his  cheek,  the  earth  breathed  out  of  the  blackness  before 
and  behind  him.  When,  as  if  with  the  bursting  over  him  of  the 
mountain  he  had  marked,  the  thunder  spoke  all  at  once,  the 
whole  forest  started  up  in  violent  fire. 

Try  the  effect  of  combining  thus  the  short,  detached 
sentences  of  the  following: 

Gerard  looked  wildly  down.    He  was  forty  feet  from  the  ground. 


312  STYLE 

Death  below.  Death  moving  slow  but  sure  on  him  in  a  still  more 
horrible  form.  His  hair  bristled.  The  sweat  poured  from  him. 
He  sat  helpless,  fascinated,  tongue-tied. 

As  the  fearful  monster  crawled,  growling  towards  him,  incon- 
gruous thoughts  coursed  through  his  mind :  Margaret,  —  the  Vul- 
gate, where  it  speaks  of  the  rage  of  a  she-bear  robbed  of  her 
whelps,  —  Rome,  —  eternity. 

The  bear  crawled  on.  And  now  the  stupor  of  death  fell  on  the 
doomed  man.  He  saw  the  opened  jaws  and  bloodshot  eyes  com- 
ing, but  in  a  mist. 

As  in  a  mist  he  heard  a  twang.     He  glanced  down.    Denys, 
white  and  silent  as  death,  was  shooting  up  at  the  bear. 
—  Charles  Reade,  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,  Chapter  xxiv. 

Agitation,  then,  and  swift  or  sudden  action,  are  naturally 
suggested  by  short  sentences;  for  these  give  the  impression 
of  abruptness  by  preventing  any  sustained  rhythm.  Calm, 
revery,  slowness,  and  the  like  are  naturally  suggested  by 
long  sentences;  for  these,  by  necessitating  subordination, 
are  more  deliberate,  and  they  give  opportunity  for  sustain- 
ing a  rhythm  evenly. 

Revise  the  themes  written  at  page  295  above,  in  order  to 
increase  their  suggestiveness  by  adaptation  of  the  sentences  to 
the  action  and  mood. 

On  the  platform  of  a  country  railroad  station  at  a  hot  summer 
noon  idlers  are  sitting  and  chatting  quietly.  The  telegraph  in- 
strument clicks,  a  locust  buzzes  in  a  roadside  tree,  and  the  brook 
swirls  gently.  The  heat  makes  waves  in  the  air.  With  these  details, 
and  others  of  your  own  choosing,  describe  the  scene  so  as  to  give 
an  impression  of  lazy  quiet.  Then  describe  the  sudden  coming  of 
an  excursion  train  and  the  excitement  on  the  platform.  Revise 
the  theme  so  as  to  enhance  the  impression  of  quiet  and  indolence 
in  the  first  part  by  long,  deliberate  sentences,  and  the  impression 
of  bustle  in  the  latter  part  by  short  sentences,  with  exclamation 
and  dialogue. 

With  like  adaptation  of  sentences,  describe  children  quietly 


STYLE  313 

making  mud  pies  in  a  remote  country  road,  and  then  suddenly 
dispersed  by  an  automobile. 

Describe  the  scene  at  a  wharf  on  a  still  night,  the  coming  of  the 
steamboat,  the  making  fast,  the  imloading  of  freight,  the  departure 
of  the  boat. 

Variety,  —  But  the  very  freedom  of  prose  rhythm  naturally 
demands  variety.  A  series  of  sentences  keeping  about  the 
same  length  soon  becomes  tiresome  by  its  monotony.  Still 
more  monotonous  is  a  series  keeping,  not  only  the  same 
length,  but  the  same  form.  The  sentence-form  most  Ukely 
to  offend  in  this  particular  is  the  compound.  Thus  there  are 
reasons  of  rhythm,  as  well  as  of  logic,  for  revising  into  the 
complex  form  all  sentences  that  are  improperly  compound.^ 
And  in  general,  reading  aloud  will  sometimes  suggest  the 
combination  of  two  sentences  in  one,  or  the  breaking  of  one 
into  two,  for  the  sake  of  variety.  Variety  of  style  is  almost 
entirely  an  affair  of  the  form  and  length  of  sentences. 

Of  the  following  passages  from  Macaulay's  History  of  England, 
the  first,  by  the  monotony  and  abruptness  of  the  sentences,  jars 
upon  the  impression  of  pathos  suggested  by  the  incidents  and  the 
words;  the  second,  on  the  other  hand,  moves  in  tune  with  the 
action  and  at  the  same  time  has  greater  variety  of  sentence-form: 

(a)  Hampden,  with  his  head  drooping,  and  his  hands  leaning 
on  his  horse's  neck,  moved  feebly  out  of  the  battle.  The  mansion 
which  had  been  inhabited  by  his  father-in-law,  and  from  which 
in  his  youth  he  had  carried  home  his  bride  Elizabeth,  was  in  sight. 
There  still  remains  an  affecting  tradition  that  he  looked  for  a 
moment  towards  that  beloved  house,  and  made  an  effort  to  go 
thither  to  die.  But  the  enemy  lay  in  that  direction.  He  turned 
his  horse  towards  Thame,  where  he  arrived  almost  fainting  with 
agony.  The  surgeons  dressed  his  wounds.  But  there  was  no  hope. 
The  pain  which  he  suffered  was  most  excruciating.  But  he  en- 
dured it  with  admirable  firmness  and  resignation.    His  first  care 

» See  pages  100-101. 


314  STYLE 

was  for  his  country.  He  wrote  from  his  bed  several  letters  to 
London  concerning  public  affairs,  and  sent  a  last  pressing  mes- 
sage to  the  headquarters,  recommending  that  the  dispersed  forces 
should  be  concentrated.  When  his  public  duties  were  performed, 
he  calmly  prepared  himself  to  die.  He  was  attended  by  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England,  with  whom  he  lived  in  habits  of 
intimacy,  and  by  the  chaplain  of  the  Buckinghamshire  Green- 
coats,  Dr.  Spurton,  whom  Baxter  describes  as  a  famous  and  excel- 
lent divine. 

(6)  Sir  Roger  Langley  answered  '*Not  guilty!"  As  the  words 
passed  his  lips,  Halifax  sprang  up  and  waved  his  hat.  At  that 
signal,  benches  and  galleries  raised  a  shout.  In  a  moment  ten 
thousand  persons,  who  crowded  the  great  hall,  replied  with  a  still 
louder  shout,  which  made  the  old  oaken  roof  crack;  and  in 
another  moment  the  innumerable  throng  without  set  up  a  third 
huzza,  which  was  heard  at  Temple  Bar.  The  boats  which  covered 
the  Thames  gave  an  answering  cheer.  A  peal  of  gunpowder  was 
heard  on  the  water,  and  another,  and  another:  and  so,  in  a  few 
moments,  the  glad  tidings  were  flying  past  the  Savoy  and  the 
Friars  to  London  Bridge,  and  to  the  forest  of  masts  below.  As 
the  news  spread,  streets  and  squares,  market-places  and  coffee- 
houses, broke  forth  into  acclamations.  Yet  were  the  acclama- 
tions less  strange  than  the  weeping.  For  the  feelings  of  men  had 
been  wound  up  to  such  a  point  that  at  length  the  stern  English 
nature,  so  little  used  to  outward  signs  of  emotion,  gave  way,  and 
thousands  sobbed  aloud  for  very  joy. 

Read  aloud  the  following  passages  to  study  and  compare  their 
rhythm  in  general,  and  in  particular  the  variety  in  sentence- 
length  and  sentence-form: 

(c)  The  poetry  of  Milton  differs  from  that  of  Dante  as  the 
hieroglyphics  of  Egypt  differed  from  the  picture-writing  of  Mex- 
ico. The  images  which  Dante  employs  speak  for  themselves; 
they  stand  simply  for  what  they  are.  Those  of  Milton  have  a 
signification  which  is  often  discernible  only  to  the  initiated.  Their 
value  depends  less  on  what  they  directly  represent  than  on  what 
they  remotely  suggest.  However  strange,  however  grotesque 
may  be  the  appearance  which  Dante  undertakes  to  describe,  he 


STYLE  315 

never  shrinks  from  describing  it.  He  gives  us  the  shape,  the  color, 
the  sound,  the  smell,  the  taste;  he  counts  the  numbers;  he  measures 
the  size.  His  similes  are  the  illustrations  of  a  traveler.  Unlike 
those  of  other  poets,  and  especially  of  Milton,  they  are  introduced 
in  a  plain,  business-hke  manner,  not  for  the  sake  of  any  beauty 
in  the  objects  from  which  they  are  drawn,  not  for  the  sake  of  any 
ornament  which  they  may  impart  to  the  poem,  but  simply  in  order 
to  make  the  meaning  of  the  writer  as  clear  to  the  reader  as  it  is 
to  himself.  The  ruins  of  the  precipice  which  led  from  the  sixth  to 
the  seventh  circle  of  hell  were  like  those  of  the  rock  which  fell 
into  the  Adige  on  the  south  of  Trent.  The  cataract  of  Phlegethon 
was  like  that  of  Aqua  Cheta  at  the  monastery  of  St.  Benedict. 
The  place  where  the  heretics  were  confined  in  burning  tombs 
resembled  the  vast  cemetery  of  Aries. 

—  Macaulay,  Essay  on  Milton,  %  32. 

(d)  The  last  cause  of  this  disobedient  spirit  in  the  colonies  is 
hardly  less  powerful  than  the  rest,  as  it  is  not  merely  moral,  but 
laid  deep  in  the  natural  constitution  of  things.  Three  thousand 
miles  of  ocean  lie  between  you  and  them.  No  contrivance  can 
prevent  the  effect  of  this  distance  in  weakening  government.  Seas 
roll,  and  months  pass,  between  the  order  and  the  execution;  and 
the  want  of  a  speedy  explanation  of  a  single  point  is  enough  to 
defeat  a  whole  system.  You  have,  indeed,  winged  ministers  of 
vengeance,  who  carry  your  bolts  in  their  pounces  to  the  remotest 
verge  of  the  sea.  But  there  a  power  steps  in  that  limits  the  arro- 
gance of  raging  passions  and  furious  elements,  and  says,  **So  far 
shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther."  Who  are  you  that  you  should 
fret  and  rage  and  bite  the  chains  of  nature?  Nothing  worse 
happens  to  you  than  does  to  all  nations  who  have  extensive 
empire;  and  it  happens  in  all  the  forms  into  which  empire  can  be 
thrown.  In  large  bodies,  the  circulation  of  power  must  be  less 
vigorous  at  the  extremities.  Nature  has  said  it.  The  Turk  can- 
not govern  Egypt,  and  Arabia,  and  Curdistan,  as  he  governs 
Thrace;  nor  has  he  the  same  dominion  in  Crimea  and  Algiers 
which  he  has  at  Brusa  and  Smyrna.  Despotism  itself  is  obliged 
to  truck  and  huckster.    The  Sultan  gets  such  obedience  as  he 


316  STYLE 

can.    He  governs  with  a  loose  rein,  that  he  may  govern  at  all; 

and  the  whole  force  and  vigor  of  his  authority  in  his  center  is 

derived  from  a  prudent  relaxation  in  all  his  borders.    Spain  in 

her  provinces  is,  perhaps,  not  so  well  obeyed  as  you  in  yours. 

She  complies,  too;  she  submits;  she  watches  time.     This  is  the 

immutable  condition,  the  eternal  law,  of  extensive  and  detached 

empire.  ^ 

—  Burke,  Conciliation  with  America,  ^  44. 

(e)  The  poor,  forsaken  girl,  on  the  contrary,  drank  not  herself 
from  the  cup  of  rest  which  she  had  secured  for  France.  She 
never  sang  together  with  the  songs  that  rose  in  her  native  Dom- 
T6my  as  echoes  to  the  departing  steps  of  invaders.  She  mingled 
not  in  the  festal  dances  at  Vaucouleurs  which  celebrated  in  rap- 
ture the  redemption  of  France.  No!  for  her  voice  was  then  silent; 
no!  for  her  feet  were  dust.  Pure,  innocent,  noble-hearted  girl! 
whom,  from  earliest  youth,  ever  I  believed  in  as  full  of  truth  and 
self-sacrifice,  this  was  amongst  the  strongest  pledges  for  thy  truth, 
that  never  once  —  no,  not  for  a  moment  of  weakness  —  didst  thou 
revel  in  the  vision  of  coronets  and  honour  from  man.  Coronets 
for  thee!  Oh  no!  Honours,  if  they  come  when  all  is  over,  are 
for  those  that  share  thy  blood.  Daughter  of  Domremy,  when  the 
gratitude  of  thy  king  shall  awaken,  thou  wilt  be  sleeping  the  sleep 
of  the  dead.  Call  her.  King  of  France,  but  she  will  not  hear  thee ! 
Gte  her  by  thy  apparitors  to  come  and  receive  a  robe  of  honour, 
but  she  will  be  found  en  contumace.  When  the  thunders  of  uni- 
versal France,  as  even  yet  may  happen,  shall  proclaim  the  grandeur 
of  the  poor  shepherd  girl  that  gave  up  all  for  her  country,  thy  ear, 
yoimg  shepherd  girl,  will  have  been  deaf  for  five  centuries.  To 
suffer  and  to  do,  that  was  thy  portion  in  this  life;  that  was  thy 
destiny;  and  not  for  a  moment  was  it  hidden  from  thyself.  Life, 
thou  saidst,  is  short;  and  the  sleep  which  is  in  the  grave  is  long! 
Let  me  use  that  life,  so  transitory,  for  the  glory  of  those  heavenly 
dreams  destined  to  comfort  the  sleep  which  is  so  long.  This  pure 
creature  —  pure  from  every  suspicion  of  even  a  visionary  self- 
interest,  even  as  she  was  pure  in  senses  more  obvious  —  never 
once  did  this  holy  child,  as  regarded  herself,  relax  from  her  belief 
in  the  darkness  that  was  travelling  to  meet  her.    She  might  not 


STYLE  317 

prefigure  the  very  manner  of  her  death ;  she  saw  not  in  vision,  per- 
haps, the  aerial  altitude  of  the  fiery  scaffold,  the  spectators  without 
end  on  every  road  pouring  into  Rouen  as  to  a  coronation,  the  surg- 
ing smoke,  the  volleying  flames,  the  hostile  faces  all  around,  the 
pitying  eye  that  lurked  but  here  and  there,  until  nature  and  im- 
perishable truth  broke  loose  from  artificial  restraints;  —  these 
might  not  be  apparent  through  the  mists  of  the  hurrying  future. 
But  the  voice  that  called  her  to  death,  that  she  heard  for  ever. 
—  De  Quincey,  Joan  of  Arc,  first  paragraph. 

(/)  The  town  of  Abdera,  notwithstanding  Democritus  lived  there, 
trying  all  the  powers  of  irony  and  laughter  to  reclaim  it,  was  the 
vilest  and  most  profligate  town  in  all  Thrace.  What  for  poisons, 
conspiracies,  and  assassinations,  —  libels,  pasquinades  and  tu- 
mults,—  there  was  no  going  there  by  day;  —  'twas  worse  by  night. 
Now  when  things  were  at  their  worst,  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
Andromeda  of  Euripides  being  represented  at  Abdera,  the  whole 
orchestra  was  delighted  with  it.  But,  of  all  the  passages  which 
delighted  them,  nothing  operated  more  upon  their  imaginations 
than  the  tender  strokes  of  nature  which  the  poet  had  wrought 
up  in  that  pathetic  speech  of  Perseus,  '^O  Cupid!  prince  of  gods 
and  men.''  Every  man,  almost,  spoke  pure  iambics  the  next  day, 
and  talked  of  nothing  but  Perseus'  pathetic  address  —  "O  Cupid! 
prince  of  gods  and  men!"  In  every  street  of  Abdera,  in  every 
house  —  "O  Cupid!  Cupid!"  in  every  mouth,  like  the  natural 
notes  of  some  sweet  melody,  which  drop  from  it  whether  it  will  or 
no,  —  nothing  but  "Cupid!  Cupid!  prince  of  gods  and  men!" 
The  fire  caught,  and  the  whole  city,  like  the  heart  of  one  man, 
opened  itself  to  love.  No  pharmacopolist  could  sell  one  grain  of 
hellebore;  not  a  single  armorer  had  a  heart  to  forge  one  instru- 
ment of  death.  Friendship  and  Virtue  met  together  and  kissed 
each  other  in  the  street.  The  golden  age  returned  and  hung  over 
the  town  of  Abdera.  Every  Abderite  took  his  oaten  pipe;  and 
every  Abderitish  woman  left  her  purple  web,  and  chastely  sat  her 
down,  and  listened  to  the  song.  "  'Twas  only  in  the  power,"  says 
the  fragment,  "of  the  god  whose  empire  extendeth  from  heaven 
to  earth,  and  even  to  the  depths  of  the  sea,  to  have  done  this." 

—  Sterne,  The  Sentimental  Journey, 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

Themes  in  connection  with  this  chapter  are  indicated  in  the  text. 
In  general  they  are  of  two  kinds,  either  criticism  or  imitation; 
but  they  review  incidentally  many  of  the  studies  assigned  through- 
out the  whole  book  and  should  suggest  further  review  by  practice. 
The  textj  a  brief  review  of  literature  from  the  point  of  view  of 
composition,  is  intended  to  show  how  writing  may  help  reading, 
and  to  give  outlook  for  both, 

1.  THE  TWO  FIELDS  OF  COMPOSITION 

We  have  seen  that  the  four  kinds,  or  processes,  of  writing 
and  speaking  are  argument  to  convince,  exposition  to  ex- 
plain, narration  to  tell  a  story,  description  to  suggest  a  scene, 
and  that  these  four  kinds  naturally  go  in  pairs,  exposition 
with  argument,  description  with  narration.  For  composi- 
tion has  two  great  fields.  Writing  and  speaking  have  two 
main  objects,  clearness  and  interest,  information  and  sug- 
gestion, appeal  to  reason  and  appeal  to  imagination,  business 
and  pleasure.  Though  these  objects  are  not  incompatible, 
though  we  may  even  pursue  both  in  the  same  composition, 
still  one  or  the  other  will  be  our  main  concern.  And  accord- 
ing to  this  main  object,  according  as  business  or  pleasure 
is  the  more  important,  we  adjust  the  form  of  the  whole. 
When  the  main  concern  is  to  inform  or  prove,  to  expound  or 
argue,  the  composition  is  planned  by  paragraphs;  when  the 
main  concern  is  to  stir  the  imagination,  to  tell  a  story  or 
describe,  paragraphs  are  ignored.     Indeed,  Ml  writing  and 

318 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      319 

speaking  may  be  practically  divided  into  that  which  is  com- 
posed in  paragraphs  and  that  which  is  not.  Exposition 
and  argument  may,  indeed  should,  have  concrete  descriptive 
detail;  but  the  outline,  the  form  of  the  whole,  is  determined 
by  paragraphs.  Narration,  in  some  cases,  may  stop  to 
explain  or  argue;  but  the  plan  of  the  whole  story  is  not 
determined  by  paragraphs.  Thus  in  a  broad,  general  way 
the  paragraph  may  be  called  the  sign  of  structure.  By 
paragraphs  we  carry  on  the  ordinary  business  of  writing 
for  clearness;  the  pleasure  of  writing,  the  appeal  to  imagina- 
tion for  interest,  we  carry  on  without  paragraphs. 

Review  pages  1-4,  33,  48-53,  61-64,  67-69,  74,  234,  261,  273, 
277.  Apply  these  to  expand  the  summary  statements  of  the  pre- 
ceding paragraph  into  a  connected  oral  explanation  of  about  five 
minutes,  with  examples  drawn  from  your  own  reading  and  your 
own  themes.    Write  this  out  afterwards  as  an  essay. 

Write  two  short  themes  on  the  same  topic  —  one  of  the  follow- 
ing, or  one  of  your  own  choice  —  (a)  an  exposition  (or  argument), 
(b)  a  description  (or  narrative) : 

At  a  Small  College.  Freight-handling  at  the  Terminal. 

The Amusement  Park.     ** Fresh-air"  Children. 

Intercollegiate  Football. 

This  broad  distinction  is  so  fundamental  that  it  runs 
throughout  literature.  First,  it  divides  literature  by  time. 
In  Enghsh,  as  in  every  other  language,  the  literature  of 
reason,  composed  in  paragraphs,  is  later  than  the  literature 
of  imagination.  Early  Uterature,  being  imaginative,  has 
almost  always  some  sort  of  narrative  structure.  It  is 
poetry,  not  prose;  for  strong  feeling  moves  it  to  regular 
rhythms,  and  the  people  has  not  yet  thought  out  the  logical 
relations  of  connected  prose.  For  the  same  general  reason 
its  structure  is  narrative.  It  is  a  literature,  not  of  thought, 
but  of  feeling;  not  of  ideas,  but  of  images.     Prose  literature, 


320      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

when  it  arises,  follows  at  first  the  steps  of  poetry  in  being 
mainly  narrative.  The  prose  of  thought,  reasoning  by 
paragraphs,  finds  its  way  into  the  literature  of  any  nation 
much  later.  In  English,  for  instance,  there  is  very  little 
prose  of  this  kind  in  literature  before  the  beginning  of  the 
modern  age  in  the  fifteenth  century.  Meantime  the  way 
for  it  has  been  prepared  by  public  speaking.  In  sermons 
and  other  speeches  a  prose  of  orderly,  logical  exposition  is 
gradually  developed  until  it  is  brought  to  literary  achieve^ 
ment  when  the  time  and  the  language  are  ripe. 

2.  THE  PRIMARY  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN 
LITERATURE 

The  object  of  literature,  as  of  the  other  arts,  is  to  reveal 
life.  What  the  mass  of  men  is  too  dull  to  see  or  feel,  the 
artist,  whether  in  words  or  in  colors,  makes  significant. 
He  interprets  life  to  us,  makes  us  see  and  feel  more  keenly. 
In  pursuing  this  common  object  of  all  literature,  writers 
have  followed  or  modified  from  age  to  age,  through  many 
varieties  of  personal  expression,  certain  great  types,  or 
literary  forms.  The  primary  forms,  that  is  the  earlier  and 
simpler,  are  epic  and  romance,  lyric,  and  drama,  —  all,  as 
has  been  said,  within  the  general  field  of  narrative  and 
description.'  The  only  form  within  the  other  field  is  oratory; 
and  even  this,  in  the  earlier  periods,  often  uses  narrative. 
The  secondary  forms,  that  is  the  later,  derivative  forms,  are 
essay,  novel,  and  short  story.  Of  these,  only  the  first  is  within 
the  field  of  logic.  The  other  two  are  special  developments 
of  the  primary  forms  of  narrative.  Thus  literature,  from 
beginning  to  end,  speaks  oftenest  to  the  imagination  in 
some  form  of  narrative.  Whereas  our  ordinary  composition 
for  the  business  ends  of  fife  goes  on  by  paragraphs,  Htera- 
ture  naturally  adopts  some  form  of  story**  or  description. 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      321 

Instead  of  ideas  in  paragraphs  about  life,  it  oftenest  gives 
us  scenes  from  life  itself.  To  write  about  life,  to  explain  it 
in  greater  scope  or  smaller,  with  large  view  or  in  the  details 
of  daily  business,  —  that  is  what  composition  means  to 
most  of  us  at  most  times;  to  write  life,  as  it  were,  to  inter- 
pret it  by  such  forms  as  shall  stir  the  imagination  and  feel- 
ing through  some  sort  of  imitation,  —  that  is  Uterature. 
Though  the  boundary  is  readily  crossed,  though  literary 
artists  write  essays  in  paragraphs  and  common  men  tell 
stories,  nevertheless  the  narrative  development  is  far  oftener 
used  for  Uterature  and  the  paragraph  development  for 
business.  Thus  the  historical  succession  of  literary  forms 
shows  at  once  that  development  by  paragraphs  is  late  in 
literature  and  that  it  has  comparatively  Uttle  space.  For 
literature  tries  far  less  often  to  discuss  life  than  to  reveal  it. 
In  studying  the  forms  of  literature  we  too  are  studying  how 
to  reveal  life  within  our  capacity  and  our  influence,  how 
to  tell  the  stories  of  life  that  touch  us  in  such  ways  as  to 
make  them  interesting  and  significant  to  others.  Without 
pretensions  to  Uterary  eminence,  we  may  achieve  some 
degree  of  Uterary  interest,  and  we  shall  surely  sharpen  our 
appreciation.  To  this  end,  let  us  examine  in  turn  each  of 
the  great  typical  forms. 

Epic :  the  ReaUzation  of  Life.  —  Epic,  the  earliest  narra- 
tive Uterature,  is  full  of  inspiration  to  interest  in  writing 
from  its  vivid  reaUzation  of  life  in  concrete  details.  Epic 
is  full  of  the  joy  of  Uving  and  doing.  Such  reflections  on 
Ufe  as  it  contains  are  few,  brief,  and  simple.  Rather  it 
aims,  not  to  reflect  on  Ufe,  but  to  reflect  life.  The  difference 
is  sometimes  expressed  by  the  words  subjective,  relating  to 
the  writer,  and  objective,  relating  to  the  external  world  apart 
from  the  writer.  Epic  is  very  objective.  It  teUs  us,  not 
what  the  poet  thought  or  felt  about  his  world,  but  how  his 
world  sounded  and  looked  and  moved.  It  expresses  not 
22 


322      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

SO  much  the  poet  as  the  life  about  him.  Its  peculiar  pleasure 
in  the  reading  and  its  lesson  for  writing,  is  the  vivid  force 
of  concreteness,  the  stirring  of  imagination  by  words  of 
physical  sensations.  Thus  we  realize  with  extraordinary 
distinctness  the  life  of  the  Homeric  age,  and  sympathize 
with  the  strong,  simple  emotions  of  its  men  and  women. 

THE  SON  OF  ODYSSEUS  AND  THE  SON  OF  NESTOR  CLAIM 
HOSPITALITY   OF  MENELAOS 

Then,  greeting  the  pair,  said  light-haired  Menelaos: 
**Take  food,  and  have  good  cheer!  and  after  you  have  enjoyed 
your  meal,  we  will  inquire  what  men  you  are."  ...  So  saying, 
he  set  before  them  fat  slices  of  a  chine  of  beef,  taking  up  in  his 
hands  the  roasted  flesh  which  had  been  placed  before  him  as  the 
piece  of  honor;  and  on  the  food  spread  out  before  them  they  laid 
hands.  But  after  they  had  stayed  desire  for  drink  and  food, 
Telemachos  said  to  Nestor's  son,  his  head  bent  close  that  others 
might  not  hear:  '*0  son  of  Nestor,  my  heart's  delight,  observe 
the  blaze  of  bronze  throughout  these  echoing  halls,  the  gold,  the 
amber,  silver,  and  ivory!  The  court  of  Olympian  Zeus  must  be 
like  this  within.  What  untold  wealth  is  here!  I  am  amazed  to 
see." 

What  he  was  saying  light-haired  Menelaos  overheard,  and 
speaking  to  them  in  winged  words  he  said:  **Dear  children,  surely 
mortal  man  could  never  vie  with  Zeus.  Eternal  are  his  halls  and 
his  possessions.  But  one  of  humankind  to  vie  with  me  in  wealth 
there  may  or  may  not  be.  Through  many  woes  and  wanderings 
I  brought  it  in  my  ships,  and  I  was  eight  years  on  the  way.  Cyprus, 
Phoenicia,  Egypt,  I  wandered  over.  I  came  to  the  Ethiopians, 
Sidonians,  and  Erembians,  and  into  Libya,  where  the  lambs  are 
full-horned  at  their  birth.  Three  times  within  the  ripening  year 
the  flocks  bear  young.  No  master  nor  herdsman  there  lacks  cheese, 
meat,  or  sweet  milk,  but  the  ewes  always  give  their  milk  the  whole 
year  round  ....  Yet  in  my  grief  it  is  not  all  I  so  much  mourn 
as  one  alone,  who  makes  me  loathe  my  sleep  and  food  when  I 
remember  him ;  for  no  Achaian  met  the  struggled  that  Odysseus 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      323 

met  and  won.  Therefore  on  him  it  was  appointed  woe  should 
fall,  and  upon  me  a  ceaseless  pang  because  of  him ;  so  long  he  tar- 
ries, whether  alive  or  dead  we  do  not  know.  Doubtless  there 
mourn  him  now  the  old  Laertes,  steadfast  Penelope,  and  Tele- 
machos,  whom  he  left  a  new-born  child  at  home.' 

So  he  spoke,  and  stirred  in  Telemachos  yearnings  to  mourn  his 
father.  Tears  from  his  eyelids  dropped  upon  the  ground  when 
he  heard  his  father's  name;  and  he  held  with  both  his  hands  his 
purple  cloak  before  his  eyes. 

—  Homer,  Odyssey,  iv.  59,  Palmer's  prose  translation. 

The  richness  of  specific  concrete  detail  makes  us  enter  into  the 
scene  and  feel  the  boyish  admiration  of  Telemachus  and  the 
garrulous  pride  and  grief  of  Menelaus  in  their  very  way  of 
speaking. 

ODYSSEUS  SWIMS  ASHORE  FROM  THE  SHIPWRECK 

Odysseus  swam  onward,  being  eager  to  set  foot  on  the  strand. 
But  when  he  was  within  earshot  of  the  shore,  and  heard  now  the 
thunder  of  the  sea  against  the  reefs  —  for  the  great  wave  crashed 
against  the  dry  land  belching  in  terrible  wise,  and  all  was  covered 
with  foam  of  the  sea,  —  for  there  were  no  harbors  for  ships  nor 
shelters,  but  jutting  headlands  and  reefs  and  cliffs;  then  at  last 
the  knees  of  Odysseus  were  loosened  and  his  heart  melted,  and 
in  his  heaviness  he  spake  to  his  own  brave  spirit: 

'*Ah  me!  now  that  beyond  all  hope  Zeus  hath  given  me  sight 
of  land,  and  withal  I  have  cloven  my  way  through  this  gulf  of  the 
sea,  here  there  is  no  place  to  land  on  from  out  of  the  grey  water. 
For  without  are  sharp  crags,  and  roimd  them  the  wave  roars 
surging,  and  sheer  the  smooth  rock  rises,  and  the  sea  is  deep 
thereby,  so  that  in  no  wise  may  I  find  firm  foothold  and  escape 
my  bane ;  for  as  I  fain  would  go  ashore,  the  great  wave  may  haply 
snatch  and  dash  me  on  the  jagged  rock,  and  a  wretched  endeavor 
that  would  be." 
— Homer,  Odyssey,  v.  410,  Butcher  and  Lang's  prose  translation. 

Even  so  English  epic  makes  us  realize  the  land  and  the  life  of 
the  old  English  heroes: 


324      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 


THE  LANDING  OF  BEOWULF 


Straightway  they  went, 
bode  near  the  beach 
safe  at  anchor, 
over  their  cheek-guards, 
fair  and  fire-hard, 
Warlike  went  they; 
kept  their  company 
of  the  royal  roof-tree, 
That  was  foremost 
of  houses  under  heaven. 
Lightened  its  light 


The  warship  waited  still; 

the  broad-stretched  bark, 

Shone  the  boar-images 

chiseled  in  gold ; 

fended  them  from  foes. 

warriors,  they  hasted, 

till  they  might  catch  glimpses 

all  rich  with  gilding. 

for  folk  of  earth 

In  it  Hrothgar  bode. 

over  lands  a  many. 


The  street  was  stone-set, 
goodmen  together, 
hard,  hand-locked, 
sang  in  the  steel 
in  their  grimly  garnished 
Sea-tired,  they  set 
targets  terrible. 
Bent  they  to  benches; 
heroes'  harness, 
stood  their  spears, 
ashen,  tipped  with  grey. 


straight  leading  them, 

Glittered  their  mail; 

the  hammered  rings 

as  on  they  strode  to  Heorot, 

gear  approaching. 

their  spacious  shields, 

by  the  towering  wall. 

byrnies  clattered. 

Huddled  together, 

the  seafarers'  weapons, 

—  Beowulf,  301-330.^ 


Review  pages  35-42,  147-160,  231-233,  249-258,  to  prepare  a 
connected  oral  exposition  of  the  force  of  concreteness. 

Write  with  epic  fullness  of  specific  concrete  detail  a  short  theme 
on  each  of  several  topics  following.  The  topics  presuppose  a 
crowd  or  company  in  sympathy  with  the  actions  of  their  leader 
or  their  representatives;  for  the  larger  epic  interest  is  the  com- 
munal interest  in  heroes.  Epic  is  full  of  local  pride.  Write  as 
one  of  an  enthusiastic  crowd. 

iThe  translation  follows  the  rhythm  and  the  alliteration  of  the 
original.  ^ 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      325 

1.  The  End  of  the  Second  Half.  A  hard-fought  football  game 
has  been  played  to  a  tie.  One  of  the  players  having  been  ex- 
hausted, a  substitute  is  put  in.  An  excellent  player,  and  very 
popular,  he  has  been  kept  out  of  the  game  by  illness.  Describe 
his  reception  as  he  comes  on  the  field.  By  a  clever  and  daring 
play  he  wins  the  game. 

2.  The  Choice  of  the  People,    A  crowd  comes  to  congratulate  a 

strong  and  fearless  leader  on  his  election  to .     Coming  out 

on  the  porch,  he  thanks  his  friends  and  pledges  his  best  endeavor. 
Try  to  give  the  impression  of  the  enthusiasm  and  love  of  the 
crowd. 

3.  The  Clam-hake,  barbecue,  barn-dance,  or  other  local  cele- 
bration gathering  a  crowd  of  neighbors  in  common  feasting  and 
mirth. 

4.  The  Coast-guard,  A  retired  veteran  life-saver  in  an  anxious 
crowd  on  the  beach  comments  on  the  heroic  efforts  of  his  old  corps 
as  they  venture  and  toil  to  save  the  crew  of  a  fishing  schooner 
wrecked  within  sight  of  home. 

5.  How  We  Won  the  Race, 

6.  The  Return  of  the  Regiment, 

7.  News  of  Battle, 

8.  Custer ^s  Last  Fight,  as  told  by  a  survivor. 

Write  an  essay  on  National  Songs  (America,  The  Star-Spangled 
Banner,  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein,  La  Marseillaise,  etc.),  showing  how 
they  express  national  pride  in  national  history  and  the  spirit  of 
common  loyalty.  Do  you  find  the  same  feeling  in  Maryland,  My 
Maryland,  Dixie,  The  Song  of  the  English?  In  ballads  and  similar 
poems;  e.g..  Chevy  Chase,  Agincourt,  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Bri" 
gade,  Sheridan^ s  Ride  ? 

Romance :  the  Idealization  of  Life.  —  To  the  early  epic 
literature  succeeded  the  medieval  literature  of  romance.  In 
romance  story-telling  took  a  new  turn.  Whether  in  prose 
or  in  verse,  the  medieval  romances  rely  no  longer  on  local 
pride  and  on  distinctness  of  characterization.  All  the  best 
romances  passed  so  readily  from  nation  to  nation  that  the 
heroes  became  in  literature  mere  types  of  the  manly  virtues 


326      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

then  most  admired  in  all  nations,  —  bravery  of  course, 
devotion  in  love,  courtesy,  —  in  a  word,  chivalry.  Spring- 
ing from  courtly  love-stories  and  popular  fairy-stories,  the 
medieval  romances  appealed  to  a  new  interest  in  adventure. 
The  interest  of  a  romance  is  in  wondering  what  difficulty 
or  marvel  the  knight  will  encounter  next,  and  how  he  will 
prevail.  Thus  romance  brought  into  story-telhng  the  in- 
terest of  extraordinary  situations,  of  such  situations  as  we 
like  to  imagine,  not  because  we  meet  them  in  real  hfe,  but 
just  because  we  do  not  meet  them.  Romance  is  the  liter- 
ature of  adventure  and  dreams.  For  reading,  it  has  the 
interest  of  sweet  fancy  or  noble  imagination;  for  writing, 
it  has  the  lesson  of  the  value  of  plot,  or  narrative  structure, 
of  holding  attention  from  situation  to  situation  and  satis- 
fying it  by  a  happy  issue  (see  pages  277-283). 

This  romantic  interest  in  plot  is  rarely  sustained  through 
a  whole  long  romance;  for  a  long  medieval  romance,  such 
as  that  of  King  Arthur,  is  usually  a  compilation  of  several 
separate  stories.  But  it  is  present  to  a  greater  or  less  degree 
in  each  of  these  component  stories,  such  as  Tristram  and 
Yseult  and  Sir  Perceval  of  Galles  (Wales);  and  it  is  quite 
marked  in  some  of  the  shorter  romances  that  were  not 
combined  with  others,  such  as  Havelok  the  Dane  and  Gawain 
and  the  Green  Knight.  Some  of  these  were  shaped  to  hold 
a  keen  interest  by  suspense  and  solution  (page  283).  The 
same  way  of  heightening  narrative  interest  by  narrative 
form  appears  in  Chaucer's  tale  of  the  Pardoner;  it  was  kept 
before  the  common  people  by  the  oral  transmission  of  bal- 
lads (page  263  and  foot-note);  and  it  adds  much  to  the 
popularity  of  Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake  and  Marmion, 

Show  orally  how  a  good  fairy-story  {Cinderella,  Hop  o'  My 
Thumb,  etc.)  is  arranged  to  heighten  interest  by  suspense  up  to 
a  climax,  and  to  satisfy  it  at  the  end. 

Exemplify  orally  from  some  interesting  story  \?ith  which  you 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      327 

are  familiar  the  meaning   of   the    common    saying    '*the    plot 
thickens. " 

Show  orally  how  Tennyson's  version  of  the  romance  of  Gareth 
and  Lynette  is  arranged  to  hold  and  increase  interest.  Comment 
in  the  same  way  on  Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake  (What,  for  instance,  is 
the  effect  of  Murdoch's  whoop  in  Canto  iv.?)  or  Marmion. 

Ljrric :  the  Cry  of  Life.  —  Epic  always,  and  usually  ro- 
mance, hides  its  author.  His  name,  if  we  know  it  at  all, 
is  only  a  name.  He  has  revealed  himself  only  by  that 
view  of  hfe  which  runs  through  his  writings.  He  has  not 
wished  to  utter  his  own  loves  or  griefs.  But  the  poetry  that 
does  utter  the  author's  love  and  grief,  the  poetry  of  personal 
feeling,  arose  in  all  literatures  early.  It  is  called  lyric j  or 
song.  Poetry  it  is  naturally,  not  only  because  it  arose 
early,  but  because  it  expresses  strong  personal  feeling. 
The  stronger  and  more  personal  the  feeling,  the  more  rhythm 
tends  toward  meter.  And  the  name  lyric,  from  lyre,  the 
Greek  harp,  marks  it  further  as  musical.  Most  early  poetry 
was  probably  chanted;  but  lyric  is  song  in  the  more  special 
sense  of  having  usually  such  shorter,  smoother  rhythms, 
and  such  brevity,  as  fit  it  to  be  sung  on  occasion.  As  the 
poetry  of  occasion,  it  shows  in  the  highest  degree  the  adapta- 
tion of  tone  and  sound  within  small  space.  Of  all  poetry 
it  is  usually  the  most  finished.  The  effect  of  spontaneity 
comes,  as  in  most  writing,  not  from  careless  facility,  but 
from  very  careful  revision.  The  lyric  impulse  must,  indeed, 
be  satisfied  at  once  by  some  expression;  but  it  is  by  the 
revision  of  this  first  draft  that  lyric  poets  have  attained 
their  surest  effects.  This  is  plain  alike  from  the  manu- 
scripts of  modern  poets  and  from  analysis  of  the  best  lyrics 
of  any  period.  A  successful  lyric,  whether  simple  or  com- 
plex, is  a  fine  piece  of  adaptation. 

And  lyric  reminds  us  also  that  expression  of  strong  per- 
sonal feeling  is  naturally  brief.     It  can  hardly  be  prolonged 


328       THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

without  seeming  extravagant  or  tiresome.  Some  of  the 
best  lyrics  have  only  a  few  lines;  many  have  only  a  few 
stanzas.  Lyrics  that  are  prolonged,  unless  they  are  rather 
meditations  than  songs,  hardly  hold  their  effect. 

Reviewing  pages  302-304,  apply  the  same  study  to  the  follow- 
ing, so  as  to  show  the  adaptation  of  rhythm  and  stanza  to  feel- 
ing and  the  compressed  poetic  suggestion. 

A  SONG  FOR  MUSIC 

Weep  you  no  more,  sad  fountains. 

What  need  you  flow  so  fast? 
Look  how  the  snowy  mountains 
Heaven's  sun  doth  gently  waste. 
But  my  Sun's  heavenly  eyes 
View  not  your  weeping, 
That  now  lies  sleeping 
Softly,  now  softly  lies 
Sleeping. 

Sleep  is  a  reconciling, 

A  rest  that  peace  begets. 
Doth  not  the  sun  rise  smiling, 
When  fair  at  even  he  sets? 
Rest  you,  then,  rest,  sad  eyes. 
Melt  not  in  weeping,  ■] 

While  she  lies  sleeping 
Softly,  now  softly  lies 
'  Sleeping. 


—  Anon, 


UPON  WESTMINSTER  BRIDGE 

Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair. 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty. 
This  city  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning.    Silent,  bare.  %• 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      329 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 
Open  imto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky, 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendor  valley,  rock,  or  hill. 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep. 
The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will. 
Dear  God  I  the  very  houses  seem  asleep; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still. 

—  Wordsworth. 


A  POET'S  EPITAPH  FOR  HIMSELF 

Even  such  is  Time,  that  takes  on  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have. 

And  pays  us  but  with  age  and  dust; 
Who  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 

When  we  have  wandered  all  oiu-  ways, 

Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days. 

But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 

The  Lord  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust. 

—  Raleigh. 

Examine  in  the  same  way  a  lyric  of  your  own  choice. 

Drama :  the  Representation  of  Life.  —  What  do  we  mean 
when  we  say  "That  situation  is  dramatic''?  The  word, 
like  epic  and  lyric,  comes  from  the  Greek;  and  its  Greek 
root  means  to  do,  or  act.  That  is  dramatic,  then,  which 
deals  with  doing  or  acting.  A  drama  represents  action;  a 
dramatic  situation  is  a  situation  or  a  scene  involving  action. 
We  speak  of  the  action  of  a  play,  and  of  the  players  as  actors. 

Action  interesting  to  an  Audience} — Still,  this  does  not 
distinguish  drama  from  other  forms  of  narration.     Almost 

«  The  divisions  of  this  section  are  in  the  main  those  suggested  in 
Prof.  Brander  Matthews 's  various  essays  on  the  drama,  especially  in 
his  Development  of  the  Drama, 


330      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

all  story-telling  involves  action.  A  drama  is  a  story  put 
upon  the  stage.  What  kind  of  action  is  appropriate  to 
representation  on  a  stage  before  an  audience?  The  clue  is 
in  the  word  representation.  A  drama  does  not  tell  about 
actions;  it  represents  them.  Its  situations  are  not  described; 
they  are  acted.  Now  in  this  regard  situations  that  are 
much  the  same  in  general  narrative  interest  differ  very 
much  in  dramatic  interest.  Some  we  are  content  to  hear 
or  read  about;  others  we  should  Uke  to  see.  A  dramatic 
situation  is  a  scene  such  as  we  like  to  see  on  the  stage. 
Frankhn  eating  bread  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia,  while 
his  future  wife  laughs  at  him  from  a  doorway,  —  interesting 
to  read  about,  but  not  especially  interesting  to  see.  Haman 
coming  in  his  pride  before  King  Ahasuerus  to  contrive  the 
ruin  of  the  Jews,  and  bidden  to  honor  the  Jew  Mordecai 
(Esther  vi.) ,  —  interesting  to  read,  but  how  much  more 
interesting  to  seel  How  we  should  Hke  to  see  Haman^s 
face  and  attitude!  The  dialogue  between  Haman  and  the 
king,  in  which  neither  comprehends  the  drift  of  the  other, 
while  we,  comprehending  both,  are  all  agog  for  the  issue,  — • 
how  striking  that  would  be  on  the  stage!  There  evidently 
is  a  dramatic  situation.  The  feeling  can  be  suggested  by 
telhng  about  it;  but  how  much  more  impressive  it  would  be 
if  expressed  visibly!  Arnold's  decision  to  betray  his  coun- 
try, Lincoln's  decision  to  emancipate  the  slaves,  —  interest- 
ing both;  but  would  they  be  interesting  on  the  stage?  What 
could  the  actor  do  to  express  the  great  decision  visibly? 
Merely  to  seize  a  pen  would  seem  trivial.  Such  a  situation 
is  hardly  dramatic.  A  dramatic  situation  is  a  scene  in 
which  the  feeling  is  visibly  expressed  in  some  positive  and 
significant  action  enjoyed  by  the  audience.  Drama  is  made 
up  of  such  situations  as  are  best  expressed  by  actors  before 
an  audience.  It  is  made  to  be  seen.  The  plays  of  Shakes- 
peare, admirable  as  they  are  for  reading,  weve  composed 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      331 

for  the  stage.  A  dramatic  situation  is  a  scene  interesting 
to  an  audience.  Even  the  word  audience  hardly  expresses 
the  distinction;  for  audience  rather  implies  hearers.  The 
significant  word  is  theater.  A  theater  is  a  place  in  which  to 
see. 

A  drama,  then,  is  a  composition  interesting  for  an  audience 
to  see.  Nothing  that  lacks  this  particular  appeal  is  really 
dramatic.  Aside  from  the  skill  of  the  actors,  on  which,  of 
course,  every  play  depends  more  or  less,  the  merit  of  a  play 
is  fairly  measured  by  its  hold  upon  the  people  who  see  it. 
A  play  is  made,  not  primarily  to  be  read,  though  it  may 
also  be  read  with  interest,  but  to  be  seen.  This  is  the  par- 
ticular end  to  which  its  composition  must  be  adjusted. 
From  its  very  origin,  drama  has  always  been  in  this  sense 
popular.  It  arises  spontaneously  from  a  natural  love  of 
acting.  "  Let's  pretend  you're  a  pirate,  and  I'm  a  captain 
in  the  navy."  What  child  has  not  taken  pleasure  of  this 
sort?  Many  children's  games  are  dramatic;  and  many  of 
them  are  centuries  old.  Centuries  old  also  is  Punch  and 
Judy,  and  well-nigh  universal.  Either  to  act  oneself,  espe- 
cially if  he  can  play  the  hero,  or  to  see  acting,  is  a  tendency 
so  old  and  so  wide-spread  as  to  seem  almost  like  an  instinct. 

In  the  childhood  of  civilization  this  instinct  for  acting 
was  appHed  to  certain  popular  observances  of  religion. 
Greek  drama  began  in  the  rites  celebrated  annually  by  the 
whole  village  to  honor  Dionysus,  the  god  of  fertility  and 
enthusiasm.  In  the  shouting,  singing  chorus  there  were  at 
first  no  actors  in  the  modern  sense;  but  that  was  because  in 
a  broader  sense  all  were  actors.  There  was  rude,  impromptu 
mimic  action,  as  in  "So  the  farmer  sows  his  seed"  and 
similar  games.  There  was  probably  a  good  deal  of  impro- 
vised verse  by  individuals,  and  still  more  probably  a  good 
deal  of  recurring  refrain  by  the  whole  crowd;  for  thus  began, 
not  only  drama,  but  all  poetry.     Out  of  this  communal 


332      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

impersonation  at  the  vintage  of  the  story  of  Dionysus  grew 
very  naturally  individual  impersonations  of  the  god  and 
his  more  prominent  mythical  attendants,  the  crowd  re- 
sponding with  impromptu  variations  of  the  familiar  refrain. 
Every  crowd  produces  a  leader.  The  leader  of  the  Greek 
chorus  became  an  actor  in  the  modern  sense  of  taking  a 
fixed  part.  In  time  other  fixed  parts  were  assigned  to 
individuals,  till  the  mimic  action  had  a  definite  dialogue; 
but  the  chorus  persisted  as  representative  of  the  whole 
community. 

Then,  as  always,  came  the  individual  genius  to  discern 
the  capacity  of  what  had  been  wrought  by  the  people,  to 
reveal  and  enlarge  that  capacity,  and  to  fix  a  great  form  of 
art.  iEschylus,  and  after  him  Sophocles  and  Euripides,, 
shaped  the  drama  to  express  the  ideals  of  the  Greek  race 
and  their  own  individual  genius;  but  it  always  remained 
answerable  to  its  original  popular  impulse.  The  Greek 
throng  upon  the  open  seats  of  the  theater  under  the  clear 
sky  during  the  great  period  of  Greek  drama  felt,  not  only 
that  the  chorus  chanting  in  the  orchestra  represented  them, 
but  that  they  themselves  were  assisting  at  a  communal 
celebration.  The  drama  was  always  the  enactment  of  their 
mythology  or  history,  known  to  every  spectator  by  heart. 
It  was  always  judged  sternly,  not  only  by  its  poetic  beauty, 
but  by  its  faithfulness  to  their  beliefs  and  their  feelings. 
Its  success  was  measured  by  the  feeling  of  the  community. 

So  in  medieval  France  and  England,  in  a  society  quite 
different  otherwise,  indeed,  but  similar  in  communal  re- 
ligious observance  and  in  general  ignorance  of  reading, 
arose  the  modern  drama.  The  medieval  community  center 
was  the  church;  and  the  drama  arose  from  the  communal 
observance  of  the  great  annual  Church  festivals.  "Whom 
seek  ye?''  came  the  thrilling  chant  at  Easter,  when  the  whole 
village  or  city  district  would  be  gathered  in  -the  parish 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      333 

church.  And  then,  in  further  response,  "He  is  not  here; 
He  is  risen.  ^^  To  make  this  interlude  more  impressive,  the 
clergy  had  it  chanted  responsively  by  singers  impersonating 
the  angel  and  the  women.  So  at  Christmas  there  were 
responses  of  the  angels  and  the  shepherds.  These  so  effec- 
tively answered  the  popular  feeUng  that  in  time  other  scenes 
from  the  sacred  history  were  thus  recited;  the  custom 
passed  out  of  the  church;  and  the  whole  town,  through  its 
trade  unions,  maintained  an  annual  series  of  dramatic 
representations,  setting  all  the  main  scenes  of  the  Bible. 
Each  scene,  provided  by  a  separate  guild,  was  mounted  on 
a  cart  and  drawn  through  the  market-place  before  the 
church,  where  the  spectators  were  assembled  in  the  open 
air.  Miracles^  these  series  were  called,  as  representing  the 
most  dramatic  scenes  of  Revelation;  or  Mysteries,  as  repre- 
senting the  supernatural  truths  of  the  creed.  As  the  sep- 
arate scenes  were  represented  and  combined  with  better  skill, 
they  opened  the  way  for  other  representations  of  dramatic 
scenes  from  history,  and  so  for  the  predecessors  of  Shake- 
speare. From  the  beginning,  then,  modern  drama  also  was 
a  popular  performance,  developed  in  response  to  a  popular 
demand,  and  always  answerable  to  the  people. 

In  both  the  ancient  development  and  the  modern,  mark 
that  the  drama  was  there  before  it  was  written,  before 
there  was  any  thought  of  writing  it.  The  drama  is  primarily, 
not  a  hterary  product,  but  a  popular  product.  It  began, 
not  as  something  written  by  a  man  of  letters  and  then  acted 
before  the  people,  but  as  something  acted  by  the  people 
and  only  afterward  written  down  for  preservation.  In 
spite  of  all  differences  of  time  and  race,  drama  has  always 
depended,  more  than  any  other  form  of  composition  except 
oratory,  upon  immediate  appeal  to  the  people.  Romance 
and  lyric  may*  be  enjoyed  by  oneself  apart;  but  epic  and 
drama  are  communal.     Epic  grew  out  of  the  hero-songs  of 


334      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

the  clan;  drama,  out  of  the  choral  celebration  of  the  village. 
Since  epic  early  passed  out  of  popular  life,  drama  has  been 
for  centuries  the  only  form  of  literature  that  people  can 
enjoy  together.  What  spectators  as  a  crowd  can  watch 
with  sympathetic  interest,  and  feel  some  share  in,  —  that 
is  properly  called  dramatic. 

What  scenes  from  Silas  Marner  could  most  readily  be  adapted 
to  the  stage?  From  David  Copper  field  f  From  A  Tale  of  Two 
Cities  f  From  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  f  From  another  novel  of 
your  own  choice? 

Which  of  the  following  stories  are  best  suited  for  making  into 
plays?  Ruth,  Joseph  and  his  Brethren,  Nathan  Hale,  Washington 
at  Valley  Forge,  Major  Andre,  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,  The  Great 

Strike  at ,  The  Man  Who  Gave  up  College  to  Support  his 

Family.  From  the  stories  that  you  choose,  what  scenes  would 
you  select  as  particularly  dramatic? 

Action  of  Will  on  Will.  —  Drama  is  not  only  for  spec- 
tators; it  is  for  actors.  It  is  far  more  than  a  tableau.  No 
other  form  of  composition  can  so  vividly  reveal  the  force  of 
personality.  And  this  is  revealed  most  vividly  by  the 
crossing  and  clash  of  human  wills.  The  whole  tissue  of 
drama  is  the  action  of  persons  upon  one  another;  and  its 
main  nerve  is  the  conflict  of  wills.  lago's  seduction  of 
Othello  is  the  main  line  of  action  by  which  Cassio  is  be- 
trayed, Desdemona  killed,  and  Othello  ruined.  The  motive 
of  jealousy  works  out  visibly  in  strong  and  subtle  action 
and  interaction  upon  all  the  main  persons.  Cassius  makes 
the  ambition  of  Caesar  work  upon  the  patriotism  of  Brutus; 
and  both  alike  are  thwarted  and  ruined  by  the  policy  of 
Antony.  No  mere  telling  of  this  story  of  ambition  can  give 
so  vivid  an  impression  of  these  personalities.  The  book 
of  Esther  could  be  readily  made  into  a  play  because  the 
story  hinges  upon  the  clash  of  two  wills,  the  stsong  purpose 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      335 

of  Haman  and  the  stronger  purpose  of  Mordecai.*  Thus  the 
most  intense  scenes  of  drama  are  usually  between  two;  for 
drama  is  made  of  the  visible  actions  of  will  on  will. 

Select  for  comment  one  of  Shakespeare's  scenes  showing  most 
vividly  the  action  of  will  on  will.  (It  is  well  to  have  a  scene  or 
two  of  this  kind  acted  by  students  before  the  class.) 

Recast  in  dramatic  dialogue  a  similar  scene  from  a  novel. 

Write  in  dialogue  a  dramatic  scene  from  real  life  (200-300 
words). 

Action  Limited  in  Time  and  Place,  —  Drama  is  not  only 
for  spectators  and  actors;  it  is  for  the  stage.  The  very 
fact  that  the  dramatic  representation  of  life  must  be  made 
by  a  few  actors  on  one  spot  within  three  hours  or  less  im- 
poses upon  drama  stricter  limits  than  are  necessary  for  any 
other  form  of  composition.  All  the  art  of  the  modern 
theater  in  shifting  scenes  cannot  do  away  with  this  neces- 
sity; and  in  the  days  of  the  great  playwrights  who  brought 
dramatic  form  to  perfection  the  stage  was  comparatively 
bare.  In  fact,  it  is  the  triumph  of  dramatic  composition 
to  give  the  illusion  of  Ufe  within  these  strict  conditions. 
To  some  extent  these  are  the  conditions  of  all  story-tell- 
ing (page  267).  In  order  to  tell  a  story  at  all,  we  must 
limit  time  and  place,  and  select  from  the  confusion  of 
actual  life  those  situations  which  are  significant.  Only  thus 
can  we  achieve  any  unity,  or  singleness  of  impression. 
But  in  drama  the  selection  must  be  even  stricter.  There 
can  be  no  pauses  for  description  or  explanation.  At  every 
moment  the  action  and  dialogue  must  be  significant  and 
decisive.  "  Something  will  come  of  that,''  the  spectator  must 
feel,  or  his  interest  is  relaxed.  Drama  reduces  the  various 
and  dispersed  actions  of  real  life  to  a  few  critical  scenes, 

^  The  dramatization  of  this  story  is  sketched  in  the  third  chapter 
of  the  author's  How  to  Write,  a  Handbook  Based  on  the  English  Bible, 


336       THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

or  turning-points.  It  reduces  the  conversation  of  real  life, 
which  is  often  random  and  insignificant,  to  a  dialogue  of 
which  every  sentence  has  meaning.  On  the  stage  whatever 
is  done  or  said  must  be  significant.  Else  the  play  would 
be  interminable,  and  it  would  miss  its  aim,  which  is  inter- 
pretation. Drama  does  not  try  to  reproduce  life.  That, 
even  if  it  were  possible,  would  be  tiresome.  Drama  imi- 
tates. It  represents  life  by  interpreting  within  a  few  scenes 
the  significances  that  in  actual  experience  we  might  spend 
years  to  gather. 

Thus  the  structure  of  drama  may  be  said  to  consist  in 
composing  dramatic  situations  in  a  single,  steady  course 
of  action  within  a  strictly  limited  time  toward  a  definite 
result.  These  situations  the  dramatist  deliberately  chooses 
out  of  many;  this  result  and  the  course  leading  up  to  it  he 
dehberately  contrives.  From  his  point  of  view,  therefore, 
drama  is  artificial.  It  is  the  most  artificial  of  all  forms  in 
being  the  most  highly  simpHfied,  the  most  strictly  com- 
pressed. From  the  throng  of  daily  experiences,  confused 
and  apparently  insignificant,  he  chooses  what  counts  for 
his  interpretation,  and  omits  all  else.  The  slow  processes 
of  life  he  forces  into  the  compass  of  a  few  hours.  The  fate 
of  Romeo,  the  passion  of  Juliet,  is  compressed  within  a  single 
evening.  And  this  is  done  by  contriving  a  series  of  highly 
significant  situations  in  a  single,  swift  course  of  action. 

Yet  the  drama,  as  the  spectator  sees  it,  is  most  natural. 
Unless  it  creates  and  keeps  an  illusion  of  real  Hfe,  it  fails. 
A  slip  that  might  pass  unnoticed  in  reading  becomes  flagrant 
when  illumined  by  the  foot-fights.  '^That  will  not  go,''  we 
say;  it  is  "not  convincing''  or  "false,"  or  "unnatural." 
Thus  drama,  more  clearly  than  the  other  forms  of  composi- 
tion, shows  us  that  naturalness  in  writing  is  the  result,  not 
of  careless  freedom,  but  of  labor,  method,  art.  Composi- 
tion seems  just  as  natural  as  it  is  made  to  seem,  no  more. 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      337 

And  drama  shows  most  vividly  that  art  creates  the  illusion 
of  real  life,  not  by  going  out  with  a  phonograph  and  a  kinet- 
oscope,  but  by  the  interpretation  that  comes  from  personal 
selection  and  combination. 

How  much  time  is  the  action  of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  supposed 
to  cover?  Twelfth  Nightj  Much  AdOj  Othello?  (Use  instances 
best  known  to  you.)  The  history  of  Greek  drama  and  the  condi- 
tions of  the  Greek  theater  were  such  as  to  develop  a  strict  limiting 
of  the  time  and  place  covered  by  the  dramatic  action.  The  con- 
ditions of  English  drama  were  different.  But  it  is  important  to 
notice  that  few  of  Shakespeare's  plays  bring  the  lapse  of  time  to 
our  attention.  That  generally  we  do  not  think  of  time  at  all  is 
really  the  main  point.  Reviewing  pages  267-270,  and  investigat- 
ing in  the  library  the  so-called  ''dramatic  imities/'  write  an  essay 
on  The  Lapse  of  Time  in  a  Play. 

Did  the  Elizabethan  theaters  have  scenery?  Was  change  of 
scene  made  behind  a  curtain,  as  to-day?  How  were  the  scenes 
managed  in  a  Greek  play?  Mention  a  play,  old  or  new,  in  which 
all  the  action  takes  place  on  the  same  spot;  a  play  which  changes 
scene  very  often  or  very  widely.  Work  out  thus  a  connected  oral 
exposition  of  Change  of  Scene  in  a  Play. 

Climax  and  Concluswn.  —  In  contriving  his  course  of 
action,  the  dramatist  fixes  most  distinctly  its  turning-point, 
or  crisis.  This  is  the  core  or  heart  of  the  play.  Everything 
before  is  to  lead  up  to  this;  everything  after  is  to  lead  down 
from  it  to  a  satisfying  conclusion.  Thus  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
since  it  hinges  upon  Romeo's  fatal  error  in  leaving  his  bride, 
has  for  its  central  scene,  or  crisis,  the  parting.  Othello, 
turning  upon  jealousy,  has  for  its  central  scene  the  great 
dialogue  in  which  lago  succeeds  in  kindUng  suspicion.  This 
crisis,  or  turning-point,  is  usually  called  the  climax;  but  it 
is  not  quite  like  the  cUmax  of  a  story.  The  cUmax  of  a 
drama  is  usually,  not  near  the  end,  but  near  the  middle. 
Thus  the  interest  is  not  released;  it  is  merely  changed.  The 
23 


338      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

climax  in  a  play  is  the  turning-point.  It  is  that  decisive 
scene  in  which  the  heroes  fortunes  turn,  in  a  comedy,  from 
bad  to  good;  in  a  tragedy,  from  good  to  bad.  The  climax 
of  Macbeth  is  the  banquet  scene  which  marks  the  height 
of  his  power.  He  has  achieved  all  he  sought.  Suddenly, 
with  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  begins  his  downward  course  to 
ruin.  Our  interest  is  not  relaxed  at  this  point;  it  is  merely 
changed.  Guessing  that  doom  is  approaching,  we  yet  follow 
its  steps  eagerly  to  the  end.  The  difference  in  this  regard 
between  drama  and  other  forms  of  narrative  is  that  a  drama 
usually  works  out  its  conclusion  more  fully.  In  a  story, 
especially  a  short  story,  the  conclusion  may  be  merely  sug- 
gested; it  is  left  to  our  imagination.  In  a  drama  we  like 
to  see  it  worked  out  before  us.  Thus  in  the  Merchant  of 
Venice^  though  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act  we  can  guess 
the  result,  we  still  enjoy  the  following  scene  at  Belmont, 
the  honeymoon  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  the  playful  reclaim- 
ing of  the  rings,  the  restoration  of  Antonio  to  prosperity. 
And  in  most  of  Shakespeare's  plays  the  conclusion  has 
much  more  dramatic  interest.  A  play,  then,  usually  aims 
to  satisfy  the  audience  fully  at  the  close. 

Point  out  the  crisis,  or  climax  scene,  in  each  of  three  other 
plays  of  Shakespeare.  Reviewing  page  283,  show  that  the 
** solution"  of  a  play  is  usually  longer  than  that  of  a  story.  Told 
as  a  story  to  be  read,  Julius  Ccesar,  for  instance,  might  end  soon 
after  Antonyms  speech  to  the  mob ;  for  in  that  we  foresee  the  doom 
of  Brutus.  But  for  the  stage  the  solution  is  worked  out  fully. 
What  is  the  climax  scene  of  this  play?  Show  how  the  rest  of 
the  play  leads  up  to  this,  or  down  from  it.  The  Greek  term  for  the 
conclusion  of  a  drama,  catastrophe^  meant  in  this  application  the 
subsidence  of  the  action  to  rest.  Is  there  any  analogy  between 
this  and  the  conclusion  of  a  speech? 

Dramatic  Opening.  —  Drama  begins  at  once  with  action. 
This  is  common  in  other  forms  of  story-telling.to-day;  but 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      339 

in  drama  it  is  necessary  always.  There  can  be  no  intro- 
ductory explanation.  The  rise  of  the  curtain  discloses 
people  moving  and  talking.  We  have  no  previous  knowl- 
edge of  who  they  are  or  of  what  they  are  at.  All  this  the 
dramatist  must  tell  us  as  soon  as  possible  by  what  they 
do  and  say,  while  at  the  same  time  he  carries  his  main  action 
forward  without  delay.  This  is  a  particular  application  of 
his  skill  in  selecting  that  place  and  that  brief  time  in  which 
the  important  situations  can  happen  most  naturally  and 
best  explain  themselves;  in  other  words,  it  is  part  of  his 
problem  of  securing  unity  by  limiting  time  and  place.  His 
very  first  situation  is  significant.  It  catches  our  interest 
in  these  people;  it  lets  us  know  enough  of  what  has  already 
passed;  it  gives  us  exciting  hints  of  what  is  to  come.  Before 
we  are  aware,  the  action  is  in  full  swing,  and  we  have  picked 
up  enough  to  understand  it  fully. 

Why  the  prologue  and  epilogue  in  Henry  Vf  Are  there  other 
cases  of  this  in  Shakespeare?  Give  an  instance  from  another 
dramatist.  Does  a  modern  play  ever  have  a  prologue?  What 
do  we  learn  from  the  first  scene  of  a  play  about  the  hero,  the 
previous  history,  and  the  present  situation?  With  this  view 
examine  several  other  plays.  Do  you  find  any  significance  in  the 
opening  lines  of  Twelfth  Night  and  Macbeth  as  setting  the  tone 
of  the  play? 

Make  a  brief  plan  of  acts  and  scenes  for  a  play  of  the  Bible  story 
of  Esther.    Write  out  the  first  scene. 

Oratory :  Persuasion  about  Life.  —  Most  oratory  lies  out- 
side of  literature.  It  belongs  to  the  world  of  affairs;  and, 
from  the  very  fact  that  its  appeal  is  oral,  it  cannot  have 
adequate  Hterary  record.  Now  and  then,  oftenest  in  the 
field  of  occasional  oratory  (pages  219-221),  arises  an  orator 
whose  power  over  men's  feelings  and  originality  of  personal 
expression  are  of  a  sort  to  give  him  literary  eminence.  But 
the  measure  of  oratory  can  never  be  its  eminence  among 


340      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

printed  books.  Burke,  who  is  deservedly  famous  in  print, 
was  ineffective  on  the  platform.  Bunyan's  printed  sermons, 
perhaps  much  changed  from  their  oral  form,  do  not  convey 
that  power  which  he  wielded  for  years  over  masses  of  men. 
From  the  fact  that  oratory  is  meant,  not  for  a  book,  but  for 
a  platform,  it  cannot  be  fairly  represented  in  literature. 
Some  of  the  best  speeches  must  have  passed  away  with  the 
day  on  which  they  were  uttered.  Some  of  those  preserved 
in  print  ought  to  be  judged  by  their  aptness  to  situations 
that  we  can  hardly  reconstruct  in  imagination.  If  by 
literature  we  mean  writing,  then  oratory,  though  it  is  a 
primary  ^nd  permanent  form  of  composition,  is  even  less 
than  drama  a  form  of  literature.  In  phrase  it  has  often  — • 
oftener,  perhaps,  than  any  other  form  of  composition  — 
imaginative  force  and  immediate  adaptation  of  sense  and 
sound  to  mood;  but  in  form  it  follows  the  paragraph.  For 
persuasion,  which  is  its  field,  is  the  great  practical  com- 
bination of  clearness  and  interest,  of  logical  structure  with 
imaginative  appeal.  As  it  goes  on  logically  from  paragraph 
to  paragraph,  oratory  may  be  almost  lyric  in  the  fervor 
of  its  diction.  Form  for  reason,  words  for  feeling,  —  this 
is  the  practical  lesson  of  oratory.  The  lesson  may  be  ap- 
plied also  to  essay-writing;  but  its  main  opportunity  is  in 
the  great  form  of  persuasion.  In  this  field,  no  writing  can 
quite  equal,  or  ever  supersede,  pubHc  speaking.  The  print- 
ing-press and  the  telegraph,  deeply  as  they  have  affected 
society,  have  not  done  away  with  man^s  desire  to  move  his 
fellow-men  by  the  word  of  his  mouth,  nor  with  their  desire  to 
hear  him.  So  long  as  this  is  true — and  it  seems  to  be  a  per- 
manent fact  of  human  nature  —  oratory  will  hold  its  place  as 
the  most  immediately  powerful  of  all  forms  of  composition. 

Reviewing  pages  219-233,  prepare  an  oral  discourse,  with  in- 
stances of  your  own  choosing,  on  Training  for  Oratftty.    Be  sure 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      341 

that  the  paragraphs  are  developed  with  the  fulhiess  necessary  to 
speech-making,  and  that  they  are  well  emphasized. 

Write  an  essay  comparing  the  oratory  of  Burke  with  that  of 
Webster. 

Show  that  a  sermon  has  the  opportunities  and  the  methods  of 
an  occasional  speech. 

3.  THE  SECONDARY  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN 
LITERATURE 

Primarily,  then,  literature  gave  us  in  the  field  of  imagi- 
native interest  epic,  romance,  lyric,  and  drama,  and  in  the 
field  of  clear,  progressive  thought,  oratory.  After  them 
and  from  them  have  been  developed  in  modern  times,  as 
secondary  forms,  essay,  novel,  and  short  story. ^  The  essay 
developed  from  oratory,  and  especially  from  sermons  and 
other  discourses  on  morals.  The  novel,  developing  from 
the  long  romance,  derived  much  from  the  older  epic  and 
from  the  essay.  The  short  story  is  a  very  modern,  special, 
and  strict  development  from  the  short  romance.  These  three 
forms,  therefore,  may  be  called  derivative,  or  secondary. 

Essay :  Discussion  of  Life.  —  Of  all  the  forms  of  literature, 
essay  seems  at  first  sight  the  least  definite.  The  word 
means  merely  a  trial,  or  sketch;  and  the  thing  has  varied 
in  form  from  Bacon  to  Addison,  and  from  Lamb  to  Macaulay. 
Really  the  term  covers  more  than  one  literary  form;  but  it 
can  be  divided  more  surely  after  taking  account  of  its  gen- 
eral meaning.  Vague  though  it  is,  it  nevertheless  repre- 
sents a  certain  general  attitude  of  mind  and  method  of 
writing.  First,  essays  of  all  kinds  deal,  however  variously, 
with  ideas.  Their  common  goal  is  less  to  suggest  or  repre- 
sent fife  as  it  comes  to  us  through  our  five  senses  than  to 
comment  on  life,  to  explain  its  underlying  principles,  to 

*  It  is  beyond  the  scope  of  this  book  to  discuss  the  modem  devel- 
opment of  the  fonns  of  poetiy. 


342      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

set  forth  the  writer^s  ideas.  However  specific  and  concrete 
it  may  sometimes  be  in  detail,  its  goal  is  some  general, 
abstract  idea,  some  principle  or  proposition,  in  a  word, 
some  idea.  "Men  fear  death,"  says  Bacon  at  the  beginning 
of  an  essay,  "as  children  fear  to  go  in  the  dark.''  This  is 
an  idea,  a  thought,  a  reasoning  from  experience.  His  little 
essay  on  Deaths  though  it  has  concrete  instances,  is  planned 
to  set  forth  certain  ideas.  So  each  of  Emerson's  essays, 
abundant  though  some  of  them  are  in  concrete  descriptive 
detail,  sets  forth  certain  ideas  concerning  Friendship,  or 
Books,  or  Eloquence,  etc.  Each  has  for  its  goal  something 
abstract  and  general,  not  a  reflection  of  life  as  in  a  story  or 
play,  but  a  reflection  on  life.  Lowell's  essay  On  a  Certain 
Condescension  in  Foreigners  begins  with  anecdote  and 
abounds  in  description;  but  its  purpose  is  to  enforce  upon 
the  reader  his  reflections,  his  ideas,  concerning  the  attitude 
of  foreigners  toward  our  country.  Many  of  Addison's 
essays,  especially  the  De  Coverley  papers,  are  very  largely 
descriptive;  but  they  are  habitually  led  from,  or  led  up  to, 
an  abstract  idea  which  serves  as  a  text,  or  proposition  for 
the  whole.  Number  107  begins:  "The  reception,  manner 
of  attendance,  undisturbed  freedom  and  quiet,  which  I  meet 
with  here  in  the  country  has  confirmed  me  in  the  opinion 
I  always  had  that  the  general  corruption  of  manners  in 
servants  is  owing  to  the  conduct  of  masters."  Number  110 
passes  from  the  haunted  walk  near  Sir  Roger's  house  to  the 
general  belief  in  ghosts.  Number  112  begins:  "I  am  always 
very  well  pleased  with  a  country  Sunday,  and  think,  if 
keeping  holy  the  seventh  day  were  only  a  human  institu- 
tion, it  would  be  the  best  method  that  could  have  been 
thought  of  for  the  poHshing  and  civilizing  of  mankind." 
Of  course  critical  essays,  such  as  Macaulay's,  are  evidently 
devoted  to  the  developing  of  ideas.  In  general,  then,  an 
essay  is  a  discussion  of  ideas.  f* 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      343 

This  being  the  object  of  an  essay,  its  method  is  generally 
by  paragraphs,  as  in  a  speech.  As  to  its  form,  indeed,  an 
essay  might  roughly  be  called  a  speech  in  writing;  for  both 
proceed  generally  by  paragraphs.  The  difference  between 
the  two  is  the  difference  between  persuasion  and  exposition. 
True,  either  speech  or  essay  may  persuade,  and  either  may 
expound;  but  when  our  main  object  is  persuasion  we  prefer 
to  speak  if  we  can,  and  when  the  main  object  is  explanation 
we  prefer  to  write.  So  with  the  audience.  If  we  are  to 
be  stirred,  we  had  rather  hear;  if  we  are  above  all  to  under- 
stand clearly,  we  had  rather  read,  had  rather,  as  we  say, 
have  the  thing  in  black  and  white.  We  may  revise  our 
general  definition,  therefore,  by  calUng  an  essay  an  exposi- 
tion of  ideas.  For  the  object  of  an  essay  is  usually  more 
than  enumeration  of  parts,  more  than  statement  of  facts. 
An  essay  aims  from  the  parts  to  interpret  the  whole,  from 
the  facts  to  show  the  underlying  principle.  An  essay  pro- 
ceeds by  paragraphs  because  it  is  a  process  of  thought. 
Finally,  then,  an  essay  may  be  defined  as  an  exposition  by 
paragraphs  of  a  single  controlling  idea. 

The  Two  Kinds  of  Essay,  —  On  the  basis  of  this  definition, 
essays  may  be  divided  into  two  classes,  according  as  they 
follow  the  paragraph  method  of  exposition  more  or  less 
strictly.  When  the  author's  main  concern  is  the  underlying 
idea  and  the  leading  of  other  people  to  accept  it,  he  casts 
his  essay  in  the  stricter  way  of  exposition  by  definite,  care- 
fully emphasized  paragraphs.  His  paragraphs,  though  they 
may  be  less  full,  are  as  definite  as  those  of  a  speech,  and,  as 
in  a  speech,  they  are  arranged  in  progressive,  logical  order. 
When,  on  the  other  hand,  the  author  cares  more  to  show 
his  idea  concretely  as  he  sees  it  at  work  in  life,  when,  instead 
of  developing  it  by  definite  stages,  he  is  content  to  suggest 
it,  when  in  other  words  his  aim  is  rather  to  interest  his 
readers  in  it  than  to  reason  it  out  with  them,  —  then  he 


344      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

casts  his  essay  in  a  looser  form.  His  paragraphs  are  not 
so  clear-cut  as  the  paragraphs  of  a  speech;  for  some  of  them 
are  largely  descriptive,  and  the  whole  essay  has  less  logical 
progress.  Both  classes  of  essays  deal  with  ideas;  but  the 
one  reasons  them  out  in  a  series  of  expository  paragraphs, 
and  the  other  partly  reasons  them  out  and  partly  suggests 
them  by  description.  Thus  we  may  divide  essays,  according 
to  their  method  of  composition,  into  stricter  and  looser; 
and  the  ear-mark  is  the  handling  of  the  paragraph. 

The  stricter,  expository  type  is  clear  in  Bacon,  our  first 
great  essayist  and  still  among  our  greatest. 

OF  CEREMONIES  AND  RESPECTS'^ 

He  that  is  only  real  had  need  have  exceeding  great  parts  of 
virtue,  as  the  stone  had  need  to  be  rich  that  is  set  without  foil. 
But  if  a  man  mark  it  well,  it  is  in  praise  and  commendation  of 
men  as  it  is  in  gettings  and  gains.  For  the  proverb  is  true,  that 
light  gains  make  heavy  purses;  for  light  gains  eome  thick,  whereas 
great  come  but  now  and  then.  So  it  is  true  that  small  matters 
win  great  commendation,  because  they  are  continually  in  use  and 
in  note,  whereas  the  occasion  of  any  great  virtue  cometh  but  on  fes- 
tivals. Therefore  it  doth  much  add  to  a  man's  reputation,  and 
is,  as  Queen  Isabella  said,  like  perpetual  letters  commendatory, 
to  have  good  forms.  To  attain  them  it  almost  sufficeth  not  to 
despise  them;  for  so  shall  a  man  observe  them  in  others,  and  let 
him  trust  himself  with  the  rest.  For  if  he  labour  too  much  to 
express  them,  he  shall  lose  their  grace,  which  is  to  be  natural  and 
imaffected.  Some  men's  behaviour  is  like  a  verse  wherein  every 
syllable  is  measured.  How  can  a  man  comprehend  great  matters 
that  breaketh  his  mind  too  much  to  small  observations?  Not  to 
use  ceremonies  at  all  is  to  teach  others  not  to  use  them  again,  and 
so  diminish  respect  to   himself.     Especially  they  be  not  to  be 

^i.e.,  On  Etiquette  and  Observances.  For  the  obsolete  meanings  of 
other  words  in  this  essay  consult  a  large  dictionary  or  an  annotated 
edition.  ** 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      345 

omitted  to  strangers  and  formal  natures.  But  the  dwelling  upon 
them  and  exalting  them  above  the  moon  is  not  only  tedious,  but 
doth  diminish  the  faith  and  credit  of  him  that  speaks.  And  cer- 
tainly there  is  a  kind  of  conveying  of  effectual  and  imprinting  pas- 
sages amongst  compliments  which  is  of  singular  use,  if  a  man  can 
hit  upon  it.  Amongst  a  man's  peers  a  man  shall  be  sure  of  famil- 
iarity; and  therefore  it  is  good  a  little  to  keep  state.  Amongst  a 
man's  inferiors  one  shall  be  sure  of  reverence;  and  therefore  it  is 
good  a  little  to  be  familiar.  He  that  is  too  much  in  any  thing,  so 
that  he  giveth  another  occasion  of  satiety,  maketh  himself  cheap. 
To  apply  one's  self  to  others  is  good,  so  it  be  with  demonstration 
that  a  man  doth  it  upon  regard,  and  not  upon  facility.  It  is  a 
good  precept  generally  in  seconding  another  yet  to  add  somewhat 
of  one's  own:  as,  if  you  will  grant  his  opinion,  let  it  be  with  some 
distinction;  if  you  will  follow  his  motion,  let  it  be  with  condition; 
if  you  allow  his  counsel,  let  it  be  with  alleging  further  reason.  Men 
had  need  beware  how  they  be  too  perfect  in  compliments;  for  be 
they  never  so  sufficient  otherwise,  their  enviers  will  be  sure  to  give 
them  that  attribute,  to  the  disadvantage  of  their  greater  virtues. 
It  is  loss  also  in  business  to  be  too  full  of  respects,  or  to  be  curious 
in  observing  times  and  opportunities.  Solomon  saith,  He  thai 
consider eth  the  wind  shall  not  sow,  and  he  that  looketh  to  the  cloud 
shall  not  reap,  A  wise  man  will  make  more  opportimities  than  he 
j&nds.  Men's  behaviour  should  be  like  their  apparel,  not  too 
strait  or  point  device,  but  free  for  exercise  or  motion. 

This  is  clearly  systematic;  but  where  are  the  paragraphs? 
The  answer  is  in  the  habit  of  Bacon's  mind.  He  was  con- 
tent to  formulate  in  concise,  suggestive  summary.  He  had 
none  of  the  public  speaker's  wish  to  develop  an  idea  fully. 
He  has  very  little  amplification.  Thus  for  the  average  man 
his  essays  make  too  hard  reading.  In  formulating  an  idea 
concisely  he  has  never  been  surpassed,  and  very  rarely 
equaled;  but  in  expanding  an  idea  —  that  he  leaves  to 
the  reader.  Thus  Bacon^s  readers  are  limited  to  the  in- 
tellectual.   Thus  his  paragraphs  are  undeveloped.     Instead 


346       THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

of  a  full  paragraph,  he  gives  a  few  sentences,  sometimes 
only  one.  In  the  essay  above,  the  first  undeveloped  para- 
graph ends  to  have  good  forms.  Point  out  the  ends  of  other 
undeveloped  paragraphs.  For  somewhat  fuller  paragraph 
development  see  the  essays  on  Simulation  and  Dissimula- 
tion, Envy,  and  Friendship.  Bacon,  then,  wrote  in  the 
strictly  expository  type  of  essay;  but  did  not  usually  develop 
his  paragraphs. 

Looser  Essay,  the  Spectator  Type.  —  In  marked  contrast 
to  this  is  a  form  of  essay  developed  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. Steele,  Addison,  Swift,  and  their  friends  addressed 
their  essays,  not  to  the  intellectual  few,  but  to  the  larger 
public;  and  while  Swift  commonly  used  the  logical  develop- 
ment by  paragraphs,  Steele  and  Addison  struck  out  in  the 
Spectator  a  new  line.  Though  their  object  was  to  circu- 
late truer  ideas  of  life,  they  thought  that  a  better  way  was 
to  awaken  and  sustain  interest.  To  this  end  the  Spectator 
papers  depend  largely  on  description;  and  for  this  reason 
they  often  have  very  slight  logical  progress  and  rather 
loose  paragraphs.  Though  longer  than  most  of  Bacon's 
essays,  these  papers  are  still  short,  much  shorter  usually 
than  the  essays  of  to-day.  But  they  are  not  short  by 
Bacon's  intellectual  method  of  compression;  they  are  short 
because  the  thought  is  not  sustained  and  carried  out.  Rather 
the  essays  are  pleasantly  suggestive.  They  may  be  even 
fragmentary;  for  they  aimed  to  keep  the  character  of  good 
conversation.  This  type  of  easy,  fluent,  picturesque  com- 
ment on  life  gained  enduring  popularity.  Not  only  was  the 
Spectator  imitated  by  later  journals,  but  outside  of  regular 
periodical  publications  its  form  of  essay  was  followed  long 
after  by  Lamb,  Irving,  Hazlitt,  and  Lowell,  and  is  still 
popular  to-day. 

Stricter  Essay,  the  Edinburgh  Review  Type.  —  Early  in 
the  nineteenth  century  the  Edinburgh  Review  wag  founded 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      347 

for  more  serious,  thorough,  and  sustained  exposition.  The 
idea  was  to  provide  systematic  criticism  of  literature,  and, ' 
through  that,  of  life.  Francis  Jeffrey,  the  first  editor,  had 
a  remarkable  faculty  of  exposition.  He  loved  to  think  a 
thing  through,  stage  by  stage,  to  a  conclusion.  Though 
his  diction  is  often  strong  and  suggestive,  his  chief  excel- 
lence is  his  grasp  of  the  paragraph.  The  paragraph  became 
in  his  hands  a  clearer  and  more  logical  unit  of  composition 
than  had  been  at  all  common  in  Enghsh.  This  trick  of  the 
paragraph  was  learned  through  apprenticeship  to  Jeffrey 
by  the  greatest  of  the  Edinburgh  reviewers,  Macaulay. 
Macaulay's  essays  are  the  most  famiUar  examples  of  the 
type.  They  are  longer  than  the  Spectator  essays  —  often 
twenty  times  as  long  —  because  their  audience  and  their 
object  are  different.  They  are  not  only  critical;  they  are 
systematic  and  sustained.  The  books  that  they  review  are 
treated  merely  as  points  of  departure  for  an  extended, 
systematic  treatment  of  the  subject.  The  Edinburgh  re- 
viewers wished  their  readers  to  know,  not  only  the  worth  of 
a  new  book,  but  the  worth  of  its  ideas  in  relation  to  all  the 
best  thought  upon  the  subject.  They  wished  to  carry  a 
reader  through  a  definite  course  of  thought  to  a  definite 
conclusion.  He  might  accept  it  or  reject  it;  but  at  least  he 
had  been  made  to  think.  Thus  many  of  Macaulay^s  para- 
graphs have  the  clearness  and  emphasis  of  the  paragraphs 
of  a  speech.  *  Whether  they  are  argumentative  —  and  they 
often  are  —  or  expository,  they  carry  us  through  a  progress 
of  thought.  Not  content  to  throw  out  ideas  or  to  suggest 
them  by  descriptive  detail,  they  discuss  ideas  fully  and 
progressively.  This  type  of  essay  was  followed  later  by 
Cardinal  Newman,  Matthew  Arnold,  and  so  many  others 
of  recent  times  that  when  we  hear  the  word  essay  to-day  we 
think  naturally  of  an  orderly,  logical  development  by  para- 
graphs. 


348      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

SUMMARY 

Spectator  Type  Edinburgh  Review  Type 

short,    sometimes    fragmentary  long,  logically  sustained 

loosely  expository  more  strictly  expository 

largely  descriptive  descriptive  incidentally 

paragraphs  often  loose  paragraphs    logical    units,     or 

Addison,    Steele,    etc..    Lamb,  stages 

Irving,    Hazlitt,    Lowell    (in 

such  pieces  as  A  Good  Word  Jeffrey,     Macaulay,     Newman, 

for  Winter)  Arnold 

Novel,  the  Web  of  Life.  —  The  word  novel,  though  for 
some  centuries  applied  loosely  and  uncertainly,  has  come 
to  mean  in  our  time  a  story  long  enough  to  unfold  an  ex- 
tended series  of  events  and  develop  character.  A  novel  is 
a  long  story  in  the  sense  that  it  is  sustained  and  carried  out. 
Other  narrative  forms  may  sketch  or  hint;  but  the  novel 
works  out  in  a  whole  series  of  situations.  Hawthorne's 
Ambitious  Guest  is  limited  to  a  single  situation.  How  the 
guest  became  ambitious  is  left  out.  In  one  scene  of  one 
evening  the  disturbing  influence  of  his  ambition,  and  its 
utter  futility,  are  suggested  sufficiently.  This  is  the  method 
of  the  modern  short  story.  But  in  the  Scarlet  Letter  Haw- 
thorne works  out  the  consequences  fully,  shows  its  effect 
upon  character  step  by  step,  till  we  feel  something  of  the 
accumulated  and  progressive  force  of  a  long  series  of  real 
experiences.  This  is  the  method  of  the  modern  novel. 
For  a  novel  is  a  long  story  in  this  sense  also,  that  it  is  large 
and  full.  It  is  worked  out,  not  only  at  length,  but  in  detail. 
It  reminds  us  of  the  fullness  and  complexity  of  Ufe.  To 
read  a  good  novel  is  to  see  Hfe  through  keener  eyes;  it  is 
to  realize  hfe  through  fuller  presentation  of  its  significance 
than  is  possible  in  any  other  form  of  story.  That  is  why 
we  always  demand  of  a  novel  that  it  shall  be  true  to  Hfe. 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      349 

Hawthorne  wrote  beneath  the  title  of  his  Ethan  Brand  *'a  chap- 
ter from  an  abortive  romance."  If  the  story  had  been  worked 
out  into  a  novel,  would  this  have  been  the  last  chapter?  Suggest 
the  contents  of  two  or  three  preceding  chapters.  Do  you  think 
the  story  would  have  gained  by  being  thus  worked  out  at  length? 

How  many  persons  in  Dickens's  Chimes  or  Cricket  on  the  H earth  f 
How  many  in  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities^  or  of  any  other  of  his  novels 
that  you  know  better?  Compare  as  to  lapse  of  time  and  change 
of  place,  and  development  of  character. 

The  modern  novel  is  full  as  the  old  epic  was  full,  by 
dwelling  on  the  details  of  actual  life  (see  page  321  above). 
These  the  medieval  romances  tended  to  pass  over,  giving  a 
hero's  whole  history,  perhaps,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
giving  his  fights  and  his  victories,  but  not  giving  much 
sense  of  the  people  and  things  about  him.  In  the  romances 
life  is  all  fighting  and  loving.  We  pass  from  dream  to 
dream  of  surpassing  strength  and  bravery,  loveliness  and 
constancy,  without  ever  setting  foot  on  the  ground  of  ordi- 
nary real  things.  But  the  modern  novel,  seeking  to  give 
us  the  illusion  of  actual  life,  abounds  in  the  concrete  (see 
page  249).  As  he  carries  forward  the  course  of  action,  the 
novelist  suggests  the  significant  details  of  the  life  and  sur- 
roundings of  his  characters.  He  tells  us  that  George  lounged 
on  the  leather  sofa  at  the  club,  that  Henry's  three  years  of 
prison  were  written  in  his  walk  and  carriage,  that  Mabel 
was  cool  at  the  wheel  of  the  motor-car,  just  what  sensa- 
tions in  the  tunnel  under  the  river  made  Tom  break  down, 
just  how  New  Yorkers  rushing  home  to  Brooklyn  look  and 
sound  and  feel  in  the  crowd  at  six  o'clock.  For  the  novelist 
tries  to  make  us  in  imagination  live  life  more  intensely. 

Selecting  one  of  the  principal  characters  in  a  famous  novel, 
write  down  from  memory  a  summary  of  the  kind  of  Hfe  by  which 
this  character  is  surrounded;  t.6.,  the  environment  of  things  and 
persons.    Then  try  to  recall  some  of  the  significant  concrete  details 


350      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION   IN  LITERATURE 

that  gave  you  this  conception.  Then  choose  for  reading  aloud 
a  brief  passage  in  which  such  details  are  especially  abundant. 
For  instance,  when  you  think  of  David  Copperfield  as  a  little  boy 
at  home  after  the  arrival  of  his  stepfather,  what  impression  have 
you  of  the  people  and  things  around  him?  Sum  this  up;  then  try 
to  recall  definite  concrete  details  making  pictures  in  memory; 
then  find  a  characteristic  passage  in  which  your  conception  is 
conspicuous. 

Thus  living  in  imagination  with  the  persons  of  the  story, 
we  are  brought  to  sympathize  with  their  actions  and  to 
understand  their  characters.  A  novel  gives  us  time  to 
become  familiar  with  its  persons.  Do  we  not  feel  ourselves 
as  well  acquainted  with  certain  imaginary  persons  in  novels 
as  with  the  actual  persons  of  our  daily  experience?  Do 
we  not,  indeed,  sometimes  know  the  imaginary  persons 
better  than  the  real  ones  by  seeing  more  clearly  their  mo- 
tives and  characters?  For  the  novelist,  though  he  gives  us 
a  sense  of  the  fullness  of  real  life,  gives  us  none  of  its  con- 
fusion. Real  life  is  often  a  tangle  of  events,  a  criss-cross  of 
motives.  The  novelist  has  so  selected  and  interpreted  that 
we  get  from  the  events  of  his  story,  and  from  the  behavior 
of  his  characters,  a  sense  of  order,  of  cause  and  effect.  Much 
of  our  pleasure  in  a  novel  comes  from  feeling  events  move 
on  to  a  definite  issue,  and  chakTacter  develop  through  the 
action  of  human  will  on  circumstances  to  fuller  and  more 
distinct  manhood  and  womanhood.  Thus  in  the  best 
novels  character  is  not  merely  depicted;  it  is  developed. 

Show  the  effect  of  adversity  in  developing  the  character  of 
Rebecca  in  Ivanhoe.  Is  the  character  of  the  Templar  developed 
or  depicted  as  constant  from  beginning  to  end?  What  influences 
on  Silas  Marner  were  strongest  in  developing  his  character?  What 
motives  explain  the  sacrifice  of  Sidney  Carton?  Let  these  ques- 
tions suggest  many  others  for  discussion  of  characterization  in 
novels.     See  also  pages  254-258.  g* 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      351 

This  full,  consecutive  form  of  the  novel  was  not  reached 
at  once.  Defoe's  Robinson  Crusoe^  which  is  one  of  its  early 
forms,  has  the  epic  concreteness  of  detail,  but  makes  no 
attempt  either  to  develop  character  or  to  sustain  and  heighten 
interest  in  plot.  Richardson's  novels,  though  they  express 
fine  shades  of  character  by  letters,  are  so  lacking  in  every- 
thing else  to  sustain  interest  that  they  have  almost  ceased 
to  be  read.  Smollett  not  only  caught  the  trick  of  charac- 
terizing persons  by  word  and  act,  but,  using  such  events 
as  had  been  used  by  Defoe,  arranged  them  for  the  excitement 
of  suspense.  Often  less  distinct  than  Defoe  in  detail,  he  is 
livelier  in  method.  Meantime  the  example  of  the  Spec- 
tator studies  in  character  and  manners  was  gradually  leading 
novelists  to  nicer  characterization  and  fuller  description  of 
environment.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  whom  we  realize 
more  clearly  and  sympathetically  than  any  character  in 
any  English  novel  before  Fielding,  showed  the  novelists 
how  to  enhance  the  impression  of  a  personality  by  putting 
him  in  an  environment  of  appropriate  manners,  how  to 
make  a  man  stand  out  in  his  proper  neighborhood.  Sterne 
worked  out  to  perfection  the  art  of  using  narrative  form 
for  description.  His  pictures  of  eighteenth-century  life 
are- not,  indeed,  brought  into  any  consecutive  story;  but 
each  in  itself  has  a  brilliant  distinctness.  The  writer  who 
combined  these  arts,  who  brought  the  novel  to  its  modern 
form,  is  Fielding.  Some  experience  as  a  dramatist  taught 
him  how  to  bring  people  together  in  action  and  interaction 
of  character.  Besides  the  interest  of  concreteness,  the 
interest  of  suspense,  and  the  interest  of  description,  he 
achieved  the  interest  of  complication,  the  crossing  of  char- 
acters and  motives,  the  struggle  that  we  feel  beneath  the 
surface  of  life.  In  his  hands  the  novel  became,  and  at  its 
best  it  has  ever  since  remained,  a  web  of  life. 


352      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

Show  how  the  story  of  the  Cass  brothers  affects  the  story 
of  Silas  Marner.  In  what  way  principally  are  the  two  stories 
connected?    How  is  Silas  made  the  main  character  (page  275)  ? 

David  Copperfield  comprises,  besides  the  account  of  David's 
own  career,  the  story  of  Steerforth  and  Emily,  of  Rosa  Dartle,  of 
Traddles,  of  Agnes  Wickfield,  —  and  what  others?  Are  there  so 
many  narrative  threads  as  to  produce  confusion?  Which  is  the 
main  thread,  or  clue;  and  which  of  the  others  are  woven  with  it 
most  closely?  Compare  the  book  as  to  the  number  of  threads 
and  the  closeness  of  the  weaving  with  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities;  as  to 
nimiber  of  characters,  with  Silas  Marner,  Analyze,  with  similar 
comparisons.  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables.  Substitute  for  these 
books  any  other  famous  novels  with  which  you  are  more  familiar; 
and  eventually  put  your  result  into  an  essay  developing  consecu- 
tively the  idea  How  a  Novel  Suggests  the  Fullness  of  Life  by  Com- 
bining Several  Stories  in  One.  Contrast  the  mere  collection  of 
stories,  as  in  the  Sketch  Bookj  and  the  insertion  of  stories  inciden- 
tally, as  the  story  of  Peter  in  Cranford. 

As  a  help  in  analyzing  a  long  or  complicated  novel,  a  chart 
showing  when  the  characters  appear  may  be  drawn  up  by  writing 
the  name  of  each  character  at  the  head  of  a  column,  the  chapter 
numbers  at  the  left  end  of  the  horizontal  lines,  and  a  hint  of  the 
action  and  place  at  the  right  end,  thus: 


Chap. 

Mrs.  Copperfield 

David 

Steerforth 

Peggotty 

Betsy  Trotwood 

etc. 

Scene 

I. 

1   1   1 

Bliinderstone 

II. 

I   1 

etc. 

III. 

IV. 

1 

etc. 

1   1  1 

By  drawing  a  vertical  line  under  each  character  opposite  each 
chapter  in  which  he  appears  in  action  a  comprehensive  view, 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      353 

inexact,  but  graphic,  will  be  given  of  how  much  space  a  character 
has,  whether  his  part  in  the  story  is  continuous  or  interrupted, 
and  with  what  other  characters  he  is  most  often  grouped.  To 
make  such  a  chart  still  more  suggestive,  draw  a  red  line  across 
the  sheet  under  the  chapter  of  climax  (page  277)  and  imder  each 
previous  chapter  that  narrates  an  especially  important  situation, 
or  crisis.  A  chart  of  Vanity  Fair,  for  instance,  would  underline 
as  the  climax  the  chapter  in  which  Rawdon  Crawley  throws  the 
jewels  into  the  face  of  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  and,  as  the  first  im- 
portant crisis,  Becky's  refusal  of  Sir  Pitt.  Again,  such  a  chart 
shows  a  story  Hke  Cranford  to  be,  hardly  a  novel,  but  rather  a 
series  of  loosely  connected  sketches,  something  like  the  Coverley 
papers  in  the  Spectator, 

Short  Story,  a  Crisis  of  Life.  —  The  difference  between  the 
short  story  and  the  novel  has  been  already  defined  as  a 
difference  in  fullness  and  consecutiveness.  A  novel  develops 
action  and  character  fully  at  length;  a  short  story,  taking 
action  and  character  as  already  developed,  presents  them 
strikingly  at  some  crisis.  One  brief,  uninterrupted  period  is 
so  carefully  chosen  and  so  filled  with  significant  incidents  and 
characteristic  words  and  actions  that  we  receive  a  single 
strong  impression  (pages  263-274).  The  modern  short  story 
is  not  merely  brief;  it  is  single.  Everything  that  might  hin- 
der the  single  impression  is  omitted  (page  265).  The  short 
story  has  its  own  fullness.  It  is  full,  not  by  carrying  us 
through  a  series  of  situations,  but  by  enhancing  with  abun- 
dance of  significant  detail  the  force  of  a  single  situation.  It 
is  multum  in  parvo. 

In  this  respect  the  short  story  differs,  not  only  from  the 
novel,  but  from  the  tale.  A  tale  is  a  simple  summary  of 
events.  It  may  —  it  often  does  —  cover  as  many  years 
and  as  many  characters  as  a  novel.  It  simply  covers  them 
less  fully.  It  covers  the  long  series  by  touching  each  event 
lightly  and  passing  rapidly  to  the  next.  A  summary  of  a 
24 


354      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

novel,  reducing  each  chapter  to  a  half-dozen  sentences, 
would  have  the  same  form  as  a  tale.  Now  this  form  is 
quite  different  from  the  form  of  a  short  story.  For  the 
short  story  differs  from  novel  and  tale  aUke  in  confining 
itself  to  a  single  critical  event  or  situation.  Like  the  tale 
in  length,  it  is  unlike  in  form.  Instead  of  covering  a  series 
of  situations,  it  is  focused  on  one.^ 

The  story  of  Isaac  and  Rebekah  (Genesis  xxiv)  is  in  form  a 
tale;  the  story  of  the  death  of  Absalom  (2  Samuel  xviii)  is  in  form 
a  modern  short  story.  Compare  the  two  as  to  method,  using 
the  headings  of  Chapter  viii.  If  the  former  were  told  in  the  way 
of  the  latter,  at  what  point  would  it  begin?  What  might  be 
omitted  without  loss  of  vividness?  The  object  of  the  comparison 
is,  not  to  prove  one  superior  to  the  other  —  each  is  excellent  of 
its  own  kind  —  but  to  show  in  what  consists  the  difference  of 
method.  Prepare  the  comparison  as  a  connected  oral  recitation. 
Write  it  out  afterward  as  an  essa}''.^ 

The  following  are  told  in  the  way  typical  of  the  modern  short 
story.  Examining  two  of  them  according  to  the  discussion  above 
and  the  headings  of  Chapter  viii.,  prepare  a  consecutive  oral  report 
on  each.    Work  up  one  report  into  a  written  essay. 

Hawthorne's     The     Ambitioics  Poe's  The  Fall  of  the  Hoicse  of 

Guest  Usher 

The  Wives  of  the  The  Cask  of  Amontillado. 

Dead  The   Masque   of   the   Red 

The     White     Old  Death 

Maid  Kipling's  Little  Tobrah 
Bret  Harte's  The    Outcasts     of 

Poker  Flat  The  Maltese  Cat 

^  For  full  definition  and  discussion  of  the  short-story  form  see  The 
Philosophy  of  the  Short-Story  by  Brander  Matthews,  the  standard  book 
on  the  subject;  and  the  present  author's  introduction  to  American 
Short  Stories,  which  discusses  the  development  of  the  form. 

'  The  comparison  is  worked  out  in  the  third  chapter  of  the  present 
author's  How  to  Write,  a  Handbook  Based  on  the  English  Bible. 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      355 

Which  of  the  Tvnce  Told  Tales  follow  the  method  of  the  modem 
short  story,  and  which  the  method  of  the  tale?  Make  a  Ust  of 
each  and  select  one  of  each  for  comparison. 

Show  which  method  is  usually  followed  by  Irving  in  the  Sketch 
Book, 

Show  that  the  Ancient  Mariner  begins  in  the  way  typical  of 
the  short  story. 

Plan  a  modern  short  story  from  one  of  the  sunamaries  below  as 
follows: 

(1)  How  many  persons  will  you  bring  into  your  story?  Omit 
any  that  you  will  not  clearly  need,  and  summarize  briefly  the  char- 
acter of  each  one  that  you  choose.  These  summaries  are  not  to 
be  inserted  in  the  story.  They  are  merely  to  help  you^ee  the 
people  before  you  attempt  to  make  others  see  them.  From  whose 
point  of  view  shall  the  story  be  told? 

(2)  What  shall  be  the  single  scene  of  action? 

(3)  To  what  single,  short  period  of  time  will  you  limit  the  action? 
Make  this  as  brief  as  possible. 

(4)  What  shall  the  characters  be  saying  and  doing  at  the  close? 
Having  planned  the  story  thus,  write  the  first  hundred  Words, 

taking  as  your  model  one  of  the  best  short  stories  that  you  have 
recently  read  in  a  good  magazine. 

(a)  An  old  Welsh  knight  inherited  a  considerable  treasure. 
Having  been  poor,  he  had  no  house  strong  enough  to  guard  it; 
and,  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  word  of  it  came  to  the  ears  of  an 
outlaw  in  the  neighboring  forest.  After  studying  the  approaches 
to  the  knight's  lonely  manor-house,  the  outlaws  arranged  to  break 
in.  Meantime  a  strong  knight  in  disguise,  seeking  adventures, 
having  overheard  part  of  their  plan,  knocked  at  the  old  knight's 
door  to  ask  food  and  shelter.  Hospitality  prevailing  over  anxiety, 
he  was  welcomed,  made  known  his  suspicions,  and  with  his  host 
planned  to  foil  the  outlaws.  A  peasant,  seeing  him  enter,  told  one 
of  the  outlaws,  who  advised  postponing  the  attack  till  the  guest 
should  have  departed,  lest  by  violating  hospitality  they  should 
get  ill  luck.  The  chief  persisting,  they  made  a  rush  on  the  ap- 
pointed night,  and  were  repulsed  with  loss,  the  guest  keeping  the 
front  door  with  his  sword,  and  the  outlaw  chief  having  his  leg 


356      THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE 

broken  by  the  beam  of  a  trap  as  he  attempted  to  force  the  back 
door. 

(6)   The  story  of  Paul  Revere. 

(c)  The  story  of  Peter  in  Cranford, 

(d)  A  freight  train  on  a  single-track  branch  railroad  breaking 
in  two  at  the  top  of  a  long,  steep  grade,  the  last  six  cars  ran  away 
down  the  mountain.  The  operator  in  the  first  station  they  passed 
telegraphed  to  the  tower-man  at  the  junction  with  the  main  line. 
The  tower-man  shouted  the  news  to  the  engineer  of  a  freight 
engine  standing  just  below  on  the  branch  Hne,  adding  that  the 
local  passenger  train  on  the  main  Hne,  having  just  passed  the 
block,  could  not  be  warned  in  time.  The  engineer,  instantly  un- 
coupling his  tender,  and  dismissing  his  fireman,  started  up  the 
steep  grade  of  the  branch  line  to  intercept  the  rimaway.  Making 
all  speed  possible  to  his  slow  engine  until  he  saw  the  runaway 
approaching,  he  stopped  and  ran  back  to  lessen  the  impact.  The 
shock  almost  threw  his  engine  from  the  track,  but  not  quite. 
Immediately  reversing,  he  fought  the  six  cars  all  the  way  down 
hill,  and  finally  brought  them  to  a  stand  on  the  level  just  as  the 
passenger  train  approached.  The  engineer  of  the  passenger  train, 
grasping  what  had  happened,  stopped,  and  the  train  crew  thanked 
their  deliverer,  who  was  trembUng  from  the  reaction.  The  tower- 
man  telegraphed  the  news  to  headquarters.  The  brave  engineer 
went  on  with  his  day's  work.  In  a  few  days  the  company  rewarded 
him. 

(e)  King  Richard  Lion-heart,  on  his  return  from  Palestine 
wrecked  off  the  coast  of  Dalmatia,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Leopold 
of  Austria,  whom  he  had  mortally  offended  in  the  Holy  Land. 
Henry  II  bought  him  from  Leopold,  and  kept  him  prisoner  in  the 
castle  of  Trifels. 

Blondel,  the  minstrel,  his  favorite,  went  in  quest  of  him  from 
castle  to  castle  all  over  Europe.  At  last,  on  some  vague  surmise, 
stopping  at  the  foot  of  the  fortress  rock  of  Trifels,  Blondel  began 
to  sing  a  lay  that  they  two  had  composed  together.  From  within 
a  voice  finished  the  couplet.  Richard  was  found.  Not  long 
afterward  he  was  ransomed.  (From  Henry,  Cours  Pratique  et 
RaisonnS  de  Style,  page  358.)  r' 


THE  FORMS  OF  COMPOSITION  IN  LITERATURE      357 

(/)  The  crew  of  the  steamer  Adelaide  vainly  fought  fire  in  the 
hold.  At  length  they  were  forced  to  take  to  the  boats.  After 
days  of  hardship  one  boat-load,  entirely  separated  from  the  others, 
sighted  a  steamer,  succeeded  in  attracting  attention,  and  was 
carried  to  San  Francisco. 

(g)  A  young  couple  —  the  husband  an  artist,  the  wife  a  musi- 
cian —  being  in  sore  need  of  money,  each  unknown  to  the  other 
goes  to  work  at  manual  labor.  Mutual  discovery  arises  from 
the  fact  that  both  find  employment  with  the  same  business  house. 

(See  also  the  plots  suggested  in  Chapter  viii.) 

Make  in  one  sentence  a  logical  definition^  of  each  of  the  fol- 
lowing: epic,  romance,  drama,  lyric,  essay,  novel,  short  story. 

In  what  form  has  De  Quincey  composed  the  story  of  Joan  of 
Arc?  How  might  this  story  be  composed  (1)  as  a  drama?  (2)  as 
a  novel?  (3)  as  a  short  story?  Consider  in  each  case  what  persons 
are  necessary,  what  is  the  most  marked  trait  and  motive  of  each, 
and  by  what  actions  these  would  be  shown  most  strikingly;  what 
place  or  places  would  make  the  best  scene  or  scenes  of  action; 
what  crisis  or  crises  would  give  the  best  opportunity  for  revealing 
the  characters  and  motives  in  decisive  action.  For  a  drama  make 
a  synopsis  of  scenes,  grouping  them  in  three  acts;  for  a  novel,  a 
synopsis  of  chapters.  Change  the  scene,  or  place  of  action,  only 
when  you  can  show  the  change  to  be  necessary  or  advantageous. 
Aim  to  have  as  much  of  the  action  as  you  can  in  one  spot. 

Plan  in  the  same  ways  one  of  the  following  stories:  Andr^, 
Robin  Hood,  Queen  Esther,  The  Lady  of  the  Lake, 

» See  page  139. 


r 


INDEX 


Abstract  (see  concrete). 

action,    in   description   53-60,    284. 

adaptation  (see  aptness). 

Addison,  poems  157;  Spectator  76, 

243,  289,  346,  351,  353. 
alliteration  299,  307,  308,  324. 
amplification  5-15,  208,  345. 
analogy  205  (see  illustration), 
analysis  of  argument  (see  brief,  — 

of  exposition  192. 
anecdote  271. 
Anglo-Saxon  153. 
announcing  the  subject  15. 
antonjrms  137. 

aptness  147,  208,  221,  287,  305. 
argument  3,  30,  68,  318. 

—  analysis  of  (see  brief). 

—  distinguished  from  exposition  30, 
68,  163,  173,  193,  200,  318,  343. 

—  deduction  202. 

—  induction  204. 

—  analogy  205. 

audience,  sense  of  the  1,  15,  26,  206, 

329. 
authority  for  facts  169. 


Bacon,  Essays  342,  344,  345. 

balance  120. 

Baldwin,  C.  S.,  How  to  Write  246, 

276,    335,    354;    American    Short 

Stories  354. 
ballads  263-270,  300,  303. 
begging  the  question  230. 
Beowulf  324. 


Bible:     Genesis     262,     269,     364; 

Judges  268;  RtUh  157;  2  Samud 

268,   275,   279,   354;   Esther  330, 

334;  Psalms  157,  159;  Daniel  268, 

283. 
Blackmore,   R.   D.,   Lorna  Doone 

145. 
brief  174,  197. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  sermons  84. 
Browning,   How  they  Brought  the 

Good  News  from,  Ghent  to  Aix  157, 

299;  The  Pied  Piper  of  Harndin 

157,  298. 
BuNYAN,     The    Pilgrim's    Progress 

242,  245. 
Burke,    Conciliation  with  America 

64,  114,  122,  194,  231,  232,  315; 

Reflections   on   the  Revclution   in 

France  308. 


Cadence  142,  296,  305. 

Campbell,  George  131. 

capitals  102. 

Carlyle,  The  French  Revolution  145, 
296. 

cause  and  effect  204. 

Cervantes,  Don  Quixote  258. 

character,  in  story  254,  275,  291, 
349. 

characteristic  moment,  in  descrip- 
tion 43,  295. 

—  details  45. 

characterization  (see  character). 

Chatham,  Lord,  Removal  of  the 
Troops  from  Boston  118. 

Chaucer,  Pardoner's  Tale  326. 

chronological  summary  239. 


359 


360 


INDEX 


clearness  (see  coherence,  emphasis, 
paragraphs,  sentences,  unity,  etc., 
and  the  table  of  contents). 

—  distinguished  from  interest  1-3, 
265,  318. 

climax  125,  277,  285,  337. 
coherence  26,  51,  277. 

—  in  sentences  95. 

—  in  exposition  26,  52,  67-93. 

—  in  description  51. 

—  in  narration  277,  350. 

—  secured  by  paragraph  emphasis 
83. 

—  of  paragraphs  secured  by  sen- 
tence emphasis  113. 

Coleridge,    The   Ancient   Mariner 

249,  274,  275,  283,  355. 
color,  in  description  53. 
complex  (see  sentences), 
compound  (see  sentences), 
concrete  34-41,   62,    155-162,   231, 

249,  265,  285,  296,  298,  322. 
conjunctions  92,  115,  117,  119,  125, 

143. 
contrast,  in  exposition  8,  141. 

—  in  defining  words  137,  141. 

—  in  balanced  sentences  120. 
conversation  127,  129,  132. 
correlatives  120,  125. 

Curtis,  G.  W.,  The  Puritan  Prin- 
ciple 118. 


Dana,  Richard  Henry,  Two  Years 

Before  the  Mast  3,  8,  18,  101,  262. 
'Dante,  The  Divine  Comedy  254. 
debate  31,  210. 
deduction  202. 
definiteness  of  details  in  description 

{see  concrete), 
definition  139. 
Defoe,  Robinson  Crusoe  262,  265, 

351. 
deliberative  oratory  219. 
d^notiment  282. 
De  Quince y,  The  Knocking  at  the 

Gate  in  Macbeth  77;  The  English 

M  ail-Coach   126,    241,    245,    309; 

Pope  234,  Joan  of  Arc  244,  316, 

357. 


description  (see  table  of  contents). 

—  sentences  in  144. 

—  in  speeches  221,  231. 

—  in  essays  61,  346,  348. 
development  of  a  theme  in  exposi- 
tion 5-14,  208,  345. 

—  by  instances  7. 

—  by  contrast  8. 

—  by  iteration  9. 

—  by  illustration  11. 
dialogue  252-261,  284,  292,  335. 
diary  262. 

Dickens,  A  Christmas  Carol  34,  37, 
50;  The  Chimes  50,  52,  275,  349; 
David  Copperjield  257,  285,  291, 
334,  350,  352;  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities 
263,  334,  349,  350,  352. 

dictionary,  use  of  the  126-139. 

digest  164. 

division  70. 

Donnelly,  F.  P.,  Imitation  and 
Analysis  246. 

drama  238,  329. 

Drayton,  Agincourt  303. 


E 


Edinburgh  Review  346. 

Eliot,  George,  The  Mill  on  the 
Floss  38;  SUas  Marner  241,  255, 
334,  350,  352. 

Emerson,  essays  342. 

emphasis,  in  exposition  and  argu- 
ment 19,  69,  216. 

by  proportioning  the  space  20. 

by  iteration  25,  216. 

—  in  description  and  narration  35, 
50,  285. 

by  abundance  of  details  35. 

by  definiteness  of  details  39. 

by  iteration  50. 

—  of  a  paragraph  furthers  the  co- 
herence of  the  whole  83,  208. 

—  of  a  sentence  109-115,  307. 
furthers  coherence  of  the  para- 
graph 113,  307. 

enunciation  128. 
epic  321,  349. 

essay  233-243,  341  (see  eiqposi- 
tion). 


INDEX 


361 


examples  (see  instances). 

explanation  {see  exposition). 

exposition  2-32,  61,  163-172,  192, 
200,  233-239,  318,  341  {see  para- 
graph, sentence,  etc.). 

—  distinguished  from  description 
2,  33,  48,  271,  318,  341. 

—  distinguished  from  argument  30, 
68,  163,  174,  192,  200,  343. 

extempore  speaking  219. 
extensive  reading  compared  with  in- 
tensive 234. 


Fables  271. 

feeling  {see  interest). 

—  words  of  148-157,  231. 
Fielding,  novels  351. 
figures  of  speech  158. 

—  of  association  159. 

—  of  likeness  159. 

\     force  {see  aptness,  concrete,  home- 
liness, definiteness). 
forensic  oratory  219. 
Frederic,  Harold,  In  the  Sixties 
256. 


Gaskell,  Mrs.,  Cranford  241,  352, 

353. 
Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  326. 
Goldsmith,    The    Deserted    Village, 

241;  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  241, 
-     292;  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  337. 
Gray,  Elegy  154,  155,  157,  159,  239, 

297;  The  Bard  304. 


Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert,  Round 
My  House  7;  French  Home  Life  9. 

Harte,  Bret,  The  Outcasts  of  jf^oker 
Flat  354. 

Havdok  the  Dane  326. 

Hawthorne,  The  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables  352;  The  Scarlet 
Letter   261,    348;    The   Ambitious 


Guest  269,  348,  354;  David  Swan 
354;  Ethan  Brand  349;  The  Wives 
of  the  Dead  354;  The  White  Old 
Maid  354. 

Hazlitt,  William,  essays  346,  348. 

homeliness  148-155. 

Homer  Odyssey,  322,  323. 

Huxley,  T.  H.,  Physiography  78. 


Idioms  150. 

iUustratioir  11  {see  analogy), 
imagination  {see  concrete,  figures), 
imitation,  for  the  study  of  style  243. 

—  of  sound  in  description  306. 

—  of  life  in  drama  336. 
induction  204. 

instances,  to  develop  exposition  7, 
140. 

—  in  argument  205. 

intensive  reading  compared  with  ex- 
tensive 234. 

interest  1-4,  33-66,  248-286  (see 
aptness,  definiteness,  observa- 
tion, words,  etc.). 

—  distinguished  from  clearness  265, 
318. 

—  reacting  on  clearness  61,  231, 
234,  346. 

introduction  in  exposition  22,  27. 

—  in  description  55. 

—  in  narration  249,  267. 
*=—  in  drama  338. 

Irving,  The  Sketch  Book  123,  241, 

261,  271,  348,  352,  355. 
iteration  9,  50,  115,  203,  216. 


Jeffrey,  Francis,  essays  347,  348. 
Johnson,  A  Journey  to  the  Western 
Islands  of  Scotland  306. 


K 

Kipling,    Rudyard,    Little   Tobrah 
354;  The  Maltese  Cat  354. 


362 


INDEX 


-Lamb,  essays  346,  348. 

Latin   derivatives   in   English    152, 

306,  308,  310. 
letters  289. 

library,  use  of  163-172,  234. 
limiting,  the   subject   in  exposition 

4,  67-68. 

in  argument  30,  173,  174. 

—  the  scope  in  description  43-45. 

in  narration  267,  353. 

in  drama  335. 

Lincoln,  Gettysburg  Speech  19,  20- 

22,  219,   297;  Springfield  Speech 

125. 
listening,  practice  in  15,  29,  217. 
literature,  relation  of  composition  to 

235-246. 
logic     (see     deduction,     induction, 

analogy). 
Lovelace,  To  Althea  304. 
Lowell,  essays  342,  346-348. 
lyric  304-305,  327-329. 


M 

Macatjlay,  Essay  on  History  12; 
Johnson  63,  116,  121,  123;  MU- 
ton  314;  Addison  289;  History  of 
England  17,  313. 

Malory,  Sir  Thomas,  Morte  d^ Ar- 
thur 252. 

Matthews,  Brander,  American 
Character  86;  Development  of  the 
Drama  329;  Philosophy  of  the 
Short  Story  354. 

memorizing  speeches  206. 

Meredith,  George,  The  Ordeal  of 
Richard  Fever  el  311. 

metaphor  159. 

meter  299-302. 

meton5rmy  159. 

Milton,   Comus  240;  Lycidas  289. 

moment,  characteristic,  in  descrip- 
tion 43,  47,  55,  295. 

monotony  142. 

MuiR,  John,  The  Mountains  of  Cali- 
fornia 60,  62. 


N 

Narration     (for    sub-headings     see 
table  of  contents)  248-285,  318. 

—  distinguished     from     description 
(see  description). 

Newman,      Cardinal,      Historical 
Sketches  306. 

newspaper  stories  278. 

notes  163-166,  209,  237. 
novel  348. 


O 

Observation  41,  160,  295. 
occasional  speeches  219. 
Old  English  153. 
onomatopoeia  305-306. 
oral  reports  15,  29. 
oratory  (see  speeches), 
order  (see  coherence), 
outline  74-83,  206  (see  plan,  para- 
graph, brief). 


Painting  and  writing  53-55. 
paragraphs  67-93, 197-199,  261,  272, 
277,  318. 

—  unity  67,  75,  83,  272,  343. 

—  emphasis  83-91. 

Pinchot,    Gifford,    a    Primer    of 

Forestry  78. 
plan,  for  exposition  and  argument 

28,  74-83, 174, 192, 197  (see  brief). 

—  for  narration  261-285. 
play  (see  drama). 

PoE,  stories  354. 

point  of  view  in  description  60. 

precision    133,    204,    230,    287    (see 

synonyms,  definition), 
proof  (see  argument), 
proportion  (see  emphasis), 
proposition  for  argument  30,  173. 
prose  and  verse  305-307. 
proverbs  152. 
punctuation  102. 


INDEX 


363 


Q 

Questioning,  the  habit  of   13,  166, 
167. 


R 

Rai.eiqh,  a  Poet's  Epitaph  for  Him- 
self 329. 
rapidity  of  sentence  movement  308. 
,  rebuttal  178,  214. 
redundanc}^  111,  146,  307. 
reference,  books  of  166. 
review  of  a  book  239-243. 
revision  94,  229. 
rhythm  299,  305. 
Richardson,  novels  351. 
rime  299. 
romance  325,  349. 


S 


Scott,  Kenilworth  151;  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake  241,  326,  327,  357;  Ivan- 
hoe  241,  350;  Marmion  326,  327. 

selection  for  unity  of  impression 
269-275  {see  imity). 

sentences  94-126,  143-147,  307, 
309-313. 

—  simple  96. 

—  complex  97. 

—  compound  99,  120,  143. 

—  balanced  120,  142. 

—  periodic  122. 

—  climax  125. 

—  emphasis  109,  307. 

further    paragraph    coherence 

113,  307. 

—  in  description  144,  309-313. 

—  rapidity  309-313. 

—  variety  313. 
Shakespeare,     The     Merchant    of 

Venice  82,  291,  338;  Jvlius 
Ccesar24Q,  291,  334,  338;  Macbeth 
240,  338,  339;  Twelfth  Night  291, 
337,  339;  Otheao  291,  301,  334, 
337;  -4  s  You  Like  It  304;  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing  337;  Romeo 
and  Juliet  337;  Henry  V  339. 


Shaler,   N.   S.,   The  Story  of  Our 

Continent  11,  16. 
short  story  353. 
simile  159. 

Sir  Perceval  of  Galles  326. 
slang  132,  160. 
Smollett,  novels  350. 
solution,  of  a  story  282. 

—  of  a  play  337. 
sound,  in  description  53. 

—  of  sentences  142,  305. 
specific  (see  definiteness). 
speeches  206-232,  339. 
stanza  303-305. 

statement  of  facts,  in  argument  192, 
200,  216. 

Sterne  317,  350. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  Travels 
with  a  Donkey  39. 

story  {see  narration). 

style  287-313  {see  words,  aptness, 
and  the  table  of  contents  in  gen- 
eral). 

subject-sentence  in  exposition  and 
argument  5,  7,  14,  15,  30,  68,  75, 
173. 

suspense  277. 

Swift,  Drapier's  Letters  233. 

syllogism  203. 

synonyms  134,  153. 


Tale  353. 

Tennyson,  Idylls  of  the  King  64, 
241,  252,  298,  327;  Tiresias  299; 
The  Princess  304. 

Thackeray,  The  English  Humorists 
16;  Henry  Esmond  255,  285;  Van- 
ity Fair  310,  353. 

transitions,  in  exposition  and  argu- 
ment 83-92,  113-116,  143,  208. 

—  in  description  56,  284. 

Trelawney,  E.  J.,  Recollections  of 
Shelley,  Byron,  and  the  Author  272. 

Tristram  and  Yseidt  326. 

Tyndall,  John,  Heat  Considered  as 
a  Mode  of  Motion  124. 


364 


INDEX 


U 

unities,  the  dramatic  335. 

unity,  in  exposition  and  argument 

4-15,  30,  67,  173  (see  limiting). 

of  a  paragraph  75. 

—  in  description  and  narration  43, 

263. 
usage  129-132. 


variety  142,  313. 

verbs  in  description  59,  146,  296. 


verse  297,  327. 

vocabulary,  increasing  127, 130,  134 


W 

Webster,  First  Bunker  HiU  Oration 
219. 

words  126-141,  147-161,  287  (see 
aptness,  concrete,  definition, 
homeliness,  idioms,  precision, 
synonyms,  etc.). 

Wordsworth,  Intimations  of  Immor- 
tality 304;  Westminster  Bridge  327. 


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